Post by "The Divine Chaos" Galen Ronan on Jan 9, 2011 1:34:46 GMT -5
One Shot
"Be careful that victories do not carry the seed of future defeats." - Ralph W. Sockman
A Thousand Different Scars
All too many faces and fears ran through the brain of Galen Aszti, now to be known as Galen Ronan as he sat there, swinging his legs up and down - up and down, a motion like clockwork as it fell to and fro in a motion too repetitive. He had waited and waited and waited for a day like this to occur, practicing for each motion and each occurence that could possibly... well, occur. He had prolonged his training more than his sensei, so to speak, had recommended - he wanted to learn everything. Unlike many, he wasn't in this industry for the fame or the adoration from the screaming fans - he didn't give half of a flying fuck about the banners that waved, the signs that were slung, the movements and cheers that rung through the arena, wafting like miasma in an auditory form. He didn't care about the bouncy cars bought with money people got from flaunting their metaphorical genitalia about, bragging about how they're the best, how they're the one who will flatten out all the others that occupy the ring with them. He didn't care much about the adoring women, wanting a piece of the action they saw in the ring, but with significantly more naked, and much more disease-ridden. He didn't care about the prestigous families that grew, that were bred from this sort of activity with the training passed from generation to generation, forming bonds stronger than the average alcoholic family with a patriarchal figure who has the ever-so-odd tendency to spryly tryst with other women.
No. No, none of that was why he wanted to get into this game of neverending politics and constant anger, rage and bonebreaking - that wasn't it at all.
It wasn't that he wanted out of the endless simplicity and banality of normal life, where one would simply go to an office and dream about a nice evening in bed with that one attractive secretary that everyone seemed to 'accidentally' brush against in staircases and such - though that may have had something to do with it in the end, it was not the deciding factor. It wasn't that he had rage that he needed to let out through the endless screaming to the crowd that roared right back in a never ending verbal tug of war - it wasn't that he needed to shed some blood in order to feel alright. It wasn't even that he had the odd genetic glitch where he needed to get bloodied to get an erection.
No, that wasn't it at all. He had gotten into this business for one reason and one reason alone. He wanted to win. Above all, in his life, all he had ever wanted was to win - to stand up and shout at the sky as he stood, gripping a peculiarly belt-shaped hunk of gold that he had held so close to himself, that smirk of victory plastered upon his face. And he wanted it to damn well stay there. He wanted to, through all his scars and frown lines, to be able to stand up and scream that he was the winner in the end. That through the trials and tribulations he could stand up and say that he had beaten it, that he had proved himself - and only to himself, in the end. Because no-one else needed to know the story that his scars told. No-one needed to know the years of abuse he had suffered through at the hands of the people he considered his guardians.
No-one needed to know who he was, not anymore. Not now that he didn't have to worry about pleasing his girl - now he could have any girl he saw in those arenas he would travel to. Though admittedly there was a fair number of them that were rather, to phrase it gently, morbidly obese.
Of course, he had some things to attend to before he got entirely into the business. But he knew one thing, and he knew this one thing well. And it may have been the only thing he knew, at the present moment: Nothing would get in the way of his path to victory.
Nothing.
---
An Opportunity Realized
Chewing on his lip, Galen continued the ceaseless swinging and rocking of his lower limbs over the edge of that chair, a consistent rocking causing the chair to let out little 'thuds' as his legs thwaped repeatedly against the wooden base that the chair rested on. Slowly, a gentle feminine hand reached out to rest upon his knee gingerly - a lilting and soft voice ringing out from his left shoulder, or more specifically, the head that rested upon it - the red hair draped over his wool work-out jacket that rested just above the defined, though not obscene musculature of Galen's shoulder.
"Baby, stop rockin' yer legs..." The smile was practically audible in the woman's voice - one hand resting on her lover Galen's knee, the other gingerly rubbing her swollen belly in gentle massaging motions. The female wasn't extraordinarily attractive, and some people accustomed to the high standards of Hollywood might even call her homely - but she had a certain beauty to her, despite a small amount of chubbiness that she did have - she carried the weight well in any case, and had a lovely little 'wife' look to her. The ring around her right ring finger matched Galen's quite visibly as he raised his own right hand to cup the hand that rested upon his knee, a low sigh of content escaping from his slightly parted, cracked and ruby lips - his green eyes falling to the redhead that cuddled close to him in the comfortable little chairs that rested in a quiet corner of the lobby. More muscled men, along with wiry, suit-clad businessmen paced through in endless and strange patterns, some actually famous to a level - all of them recognizable as various people that called their occupation professional wrestling or sports entertainment - people calling for various appointments with bookers, sponsors, recruiters.
But to Galen, only two things mattered: that his fiancee rested her head on his shoulder, that her warm body was close to his. The woman who had made his years since fifteen bearable ones, the one that helped him through the years of trauma and abuse he had suffered at the hands of his guardians. The woman that made him happier than anything else that he had ever encountered in his admittedly brief life.
And the second thing?
That victory that came in the form of a Pride recruiter rested so close to his fingertips - so close to him he could taste it on his tongue, smell it with every breath it and he took. He could feel the various images dancing through his head, of pinning Christian Kane or Kid Flanagan for the belts that presently rested so decadently and listlessly around their waists. He had no doubt that they were deserving of their titles, but rather he was entirely sure that he was more deserving of what they had at the moment.
The female slowly spoke up again as she moved forward to plant her lips upon the sensitive, exposed flesh of his neck - her nose nuzzling into that same flesh that she kissed with such loving tenderness as her lilting voice rang up in a manner just barely audible to Galen.
"Ya nervous, babe?" That hand squeezed softly at his kneecap, causing a brief shudder of sensation to slide up Galen's body - a low sigh escaping from his lips as he shuffles into the chair, his own hand giving a brief grip of her fingertips in return. After a moment of pontification, Galen shook his head - his tongue darting out of his lips momentarily to moisten those devices, his head tilting to rest his cheek against her scalp. His own voice was surprisingly gentle, though deep and resonating - warm, though quiet and calculating.
"Nah. I know I'm gonna get in... I have to." The voice was reassuring, in a way, no cracks or hesitation in his speech. Though one might question, in truth, who exactly was the man trying to comfort - himself, or the woman that depended on him for her livelihood? Regardless, he straightened up as he let his legs pat upon the ground now, the carpet creating a much more quiet sensation as he impatiently waited for his name to be called over the intercom that occasionally buzzed out the name of a company representative or a potential future talent - and each time, he stared up at the device, wishing his name would be called. He had been there for hours, waiting and praying beyond any gods he believed in that he would be the next name called.
And it was almost the end of the day - people were already preparing to shut down their stations, people were already up and leaving because they were so sure that their name wouldn't be called. They were so sure they wouldn't be the next superstar of Pride, they would never grip a belt in their hands. At least not one from this company. They had convinced themselves that they had already lost, that they were predestined to not grip at this opportunity and seize it by the throat. They were comforted, on the other hand, by the fact that they surmised that their defeat was not their own fault, but one of a greater outside force.
Galen knew he should be joining them, and he knew Roxy resented being so close to all these men she considered strange for whatever reason - mostly because they were not, in fact, Galen. But there was one thing that the intercom and time combined could not kill, and it was his raw motivation, his raw need and strive for victory - nothing could kill that, nothing short of anything that could kill Galen himself.
And there wasn't many things that Galen knew, at this rate. But he knew one thing: Nothing would get in the way of his path to victory.
Nothing.
And on that thought, on that note, a tinny voice, one of a clearly tired man, let the intercom buzz just once more. Or maybe it buzzed more - maybe several names were spoken. But it didn't matter, because all Galen heard, felt, saw or knew was that he stood up and made a walk for the door into that recruiter's office.
"Would Galen Aszti please report to the recruiter's office...?"
---
A Goodbye
The celebration when Roxy found out that he was hired was one of the warmest moments of his life. Galen felt like he had all he could ever possibly need in this world - a new job in such a thing he had a passion for, a girlfriend who loved him and loved the fact that he had this new career - loved the fact that he could be happy in this job. He felt like he had it all, and Roxy could do nothing but encourage this by nabbing them a quick dinner at a nice place down the street - a corner restaurant, the type where everyone knew eachother and immediately knew what the chef should start cooking up as they walked in the door.
But throughout the meal, throughout every second that passed of time, Galen felt something was off - Galen felt that something wasn't there. Perhaps there was fear in her eyes or her step, a shiver here or there that gave way to the knowledge that not everything was how it should be. An unsure footing on the wall of life, so to speak. A smile that would fade and grow distant through gradual movements as she stared off wonderingly into the space that occupied the area behind him. For a bit, his own seemingly endless ecstacy allowed his own mind to cover up this fact - allowed him to ignore this apparent revulsion at something or another. But it grew too thick. It permeated the air, eventually. And he started noticing Roxy's occasional glances down to that piece of paper that held the touring schedule of Pride. She noticed glares and sighs escaping from her whenever he didn't look at her, whenever she thought she could get away with it. Something was disgusting her to no end, and even more than that, she seemed disgusted that her boyfriend, fiance and lover didn't notice it.
Galen couldn't take that silent revulsion anymore and slowly, quietly spoke to her in that voice - his voice now a bit cold in contrast to the previous warmness that he had held when everything was fine and dandy, when his girlfriend had cuddled up so happily to him in waiting. His fingertips reached up to drape across his face, fingernails scratching along the scruffle that lined his face as he let a low sigh escape from his lips in combination with words that flowed like a sickness.
"What's wrong?" And with that, Roxy shot him, knowing that he saw it, a very cool gaze.
"Don't you even care? Don't you even care that you're gonna be away from me so long, baby? And ya know we don't have a phone at home..." She frowned and gazed across the table with pleading eyes, movements begging for her reassuring and love from this man that she held so dear to her heart, so close to herself. Maybe she came across as a bit needy, though in truth, she meant the best.
But Galen didn't give the usual response he gave when she looked like that, and asked like that, he didn't give her complete and utter self-sacrifice. He didn't relenquish another shot at his dreams like she was used to. He didn't give up and toss himself at her feet like a chewtoy.
Because that wasn't who he was anymore. His voice rang out cold as he spoke once more, a low sigh escaping from his lips as he did so - obviously doing something he felt he might regret in time to come.
"Would it really hurt you that much to be away from me?"
"Yes, babe." She smiled a little, clearly hoping that he would come around, see her side of the situation.
"...Then we're through." And in that moment, for the first time in a long while and the last time to come for a long while, his voice cracked just a little bit. His voice cracked just enough to reveal that interior, the sensitivity that he kept so hidden beneath layers and layers of apathy and determination. His shell cracked for just a peephole to form into the real him as he said the words he once so dreaded hearing, slowly moving so his feet hit the floor - his feet trotting away slowly, though not out of waiting for her. Out of walking at his own pace. Out of beating the drum to his own song.
And he didn't even pause as he heard the next words, the girl he once so held so close in love now held in a false apathy that he had even managed to convince himself of speaking them in a tone so desperate as the man walked away in a manner almost heartless - a hand quickly moving to rest over her belly once more as a couple of tears rolled from her eyes like a leak had sprung in her brain. The engagement ring, as if on cue, fell off his finger at those words as he just continued that ceaseless, immovable walk. Because there was only one thing he knew. And that was that nothing would get in the way of his path to victory.
"Bu-... but what about the baby?"
...nothing?
"Be careful that victories do not carry the seed of future defeats." - Ralph W. Sockman
A Thousand Different Scars
All too many faces and fears ran through the brain of Galen Aszti, now to be known as Galen Ronan as he sat there, swinging his legs up and down - up and down, a motion like clockwork as it fell to and fro in a motion too repetitive. He had waited and waited and waited for a day like this to occur, practicing for each motion and each occurence that could possibly... well, occur. He had prolonged his training more than his sensei, so to speak, had recommended - he wanted to learn everything. Unlike many, he wasn't in this industry for the fame or the adoration from the screaming fans - he didn't give half of a flying fuck about the banners that waved, the signs that were slung, the movements and cheers that rung through the arena, wafting like miasma in an auditory form. He didn't care about the bouncy cars bought with money people got from flaunting their metaphorical genitalia about, bragging about how they're the best, how they're the one who will flatten out all the others that occupy the ring with them. He didn't care much about the adoring women, wanting a piece of the action they saw in the ring, but with significantly more naked, and much more disease-ridden. He didn't care about the prestigous families that grew, that were bred from this sort of activity with the training passed from generation to generation, forming bonds stronger than the average alcoholic family with a patriarchal figure who has the ever-so-odd tendency to spryly tryst with other women.
No. No, none of that was why he wanted to get into this game of neverending politics and constant anger, rage and bonebreaking - that wasn't it at all.
It wasn't that he wanted out of the endless simplicity and banality of normal life, where one would simply go to an office and dream about a nice evening in bed with that one attractive secretary that everyone seemed to 'accidentally' brush against in staircases and such - though that may have had something to do with it in the end, it was not the deciding factor. It wasn't that he had rage that he needed to let out through the endless screaming to the crowd that roared right back in a never ending verbal tug of war - it wasn't that he needed to shed some blood in order to feel alright. It wasn't even that he had the odd genetic glitch where he needed to get bloodied to get an erection.
No, that wasn't it at all. He had gotten into this business for one reason and one reason alone. He wanted to win. Above all, in his life, all he had ever wanted was to win - to stand up and shout at the sky as he stood, gripping a peculiarly belt-shaped hunk of gold that he had held so close to himself, that smirk of victory plastered upon his face. And he wanted it to damn well stay there. He wanted to, through all his scars and frown lines, to be able to stand up and scream that he was the winner in the end. That through the trials and tribulations he could stand up and say that he had beaten it, that he had proved himself - and only to himself, in the end. Because no-one else needed to know the story that his scars told. No-one needed to know the years of abuse he had suffered through at the hands of the people he considered his guardians.
No-one needed to know who he was, not anymore. Not now that he didn't have to worry about pleasing his girl - now he could have any girl he saw in those arenas he would travel to. Though admittedly there was a fair number of them that were rather, to phrase it gently, morbidly obese.
Of course, he had some things to attend to before he got entirely into the business. But he knew one thing, and he knew this one thing well. And it may have been the only thing he knew, at the present moment: Nothing would get in the way of his path to victory.
Nothing.
---
An Opportunity Realized
Chewing on his lip, Galen continued the ceaseless swinging and rocking of his lower limbs over the edge of that chair, a consistent rocking causing the chair to let out little 'thuds' as his legs thwaped repeatedly against the wooden base that the chair rested on. Slowly, a gentle feminine hand reached out to rest upon his knee gingerly - a lilting and soft voice ringing out from his left shoulder, or more specifically, the head that rested upon it - the red hair draped over his wool work-out jacket that rested just above the defined, though not obscene musculature of Galen's shoulder.
"Baby, stop rockin' yer legs..." The smile was practically audible in the woman's voice - one hand resting on her lover Galen's knee, the other gingerly rubbing her swollen belly in gentle massaging motions. The female wasn't extraordinarily attractive, and some people accustomed to the high standards of Hollywood might even call her homely - but she had a certain beauty to her, despite a small amount of chubbiness that she did have - she carried the weight well in any case, and had a lovely little 'wife' look to her. The ring around her right ring finger matched Galen's quite visibly as he raised his own right hand to cup the hand that rested upon his knee, a low sigh of content escaping from his slightly parted, cracked and ruby lips - his green eyes falling to the redhead that cuddled close to him in the comfortable little chairs that rested in a quiet corner of the lobby. More muscled men, along with wiry, suit-clad businessmen paced through in endless and strange patterns, some actually famous to a level - all of them recognizable as various people that called their occupation professional wrestling or sports entertainment - people calling for various appointments with bookers, sponsors, recruiters.
But to Galen, only two things mattered: that his fiancee rested her head on his shoulder, that her warm body was close to his. The woman who had made his years since fifteen bearable ones, the one that helped him through the years of trauma and abuse he had suffered at the hands of his guardians. The woman that made him happier than anything else that he had ever encountered in his admittedly brief life.
And the second thing?
That victory that came in the form of a Pride recruiter rested so close to his fingertips - so close to him he could taste it on his tongue, smell it with every breath it and he took. He could feel the various images dancing through his head, of pinning Christian Kane or Kid Flanagan for the belts that presently rested so decadently and listlessly around their waists. He had no doubt that they were deserving of their titles, but rather he was entirely sure that he was more deserving of what they had at the moment.
The female slowly spoke up again as she moved forward to plant her lips upon the sensitive, exposed flesh of his neck - her nose nuzzling into that same flesh that she kissed with such loving tenderness as her lilting voice rang up in a manner just barely audible to Galen.
"Ya nervous, babe?" That hand squeezed softly at his kneecap, causing a brief shudder of sensation to slide up Galen's body - a low sigh escaping from his lips as he shuffles into the chair, his own hand giving a brief grip of her fingertips in return. After a moment of pontification, Galen shook his head - his tongue darting out of his lips momentarily to moisten those devices, his head tilting to rest his cheek against her scalp. His own voice was surprisingly gentle, though deep and resonating - warm, though quiet and calculating.
"Nah. I know I'm gonna get in... I have to." The voice was reassuring, in a way, no cracks or hesitation in his speech. Though one might question, in truth, who exactly was the man trying to comfort - himself, or the woman that depended on him for her livelihood? Regardless, he straightened up as he let his legs pat upon the ground now, the carpet creating a much more quiet sensation as he impatiently waited for his name to be called over the intercom that occasionally buzzed out the name of a company representative or a potential future talent - and each time, he stared up at the device, wishing his name would be called. He had been there for hours, waiting and praying beyond any gods he believed in that he would be the next name called.
And it was almost the end of the day - people were already preparing to shut down their stations, people were already up and leaving because they were so sure that their name wouldn't be called. They were so sure they wouldn't be the next superstar of Pride, they would never grip a belt in their hands. At least not one from this company. They had convinced themselves that they had already lost, that they were predestined to not grip at this opportunity and seize it by the throat. They were comforted, on the other hand, by the fact that they surmised that their defeat was not their own fault, but one of a greater outside force.
Galen knew he should be joining them, and he knew Roxy resented being so close to all these men she considered strange for whatever reason - mostly because they were not, in fact, Galen. But there was one thing that the intercom and time combined could not kill, and it was his raw motivation, his raw need and strive for victory - nothing could kill that, nothing short of anything that could kill Galen himself.
And there wasn't many things that Galen knew, at this rate. But he knew one thing: Nothing would get in the way of his path to victory.
Nothing.
And on that thought, on that note, a tinny voice, one of a clearly tired man, let the intercom buzz just once more. Or maybe it buzzed more - maybe several names were spoken. But it didn't matter, because all Galen heard, felt, saw or knew was that he stood up and made a walk for the door into that recruiter's office.
"Would Galen Aszti please report to the recruiter's office...?"
---
A Goodbye
The celebration when Roxy found out that he was hired was one of the warmest moments of his life. Galen felt like he had all he could ever possibly need in this world - a new job in such a thing he had a passion for, a girlfriend who loved him and loved the fact that he had this new career - loved the fact that he could be happy in this job. He felt like he had it all, and Roxy could do nothing but encourage this by nabbing them a quick dinner at a nice place down the street - a corner restaurant, the type where everyone knew eachother and immediately knew what the chef should start cooking up as they walked in the door.
But throughout the meal, throughout every second that passed of time, Galen felt something was off - Galen felt that something wasn't there. Perhaps there was fear in her eyes or her step, a shiver here or there that gave way to the knowledge that not everything was how it should be. An unsure footing on the wall of life, so to speak. A smile that would fade and grow distant through gradual movements as she stared off wonderingly into the space that occupied the area behind him. For a bit, his own seemingly endless ecstacy allowed his own mind to cover up this fact - allowed him to ignore this apparent revulsion at something or another. But it grew too thick. It permeated the air, eventually. And he started noticing Roxy's occasional glances down to that piece of paper that held the touring schedule of Pride. She noticed glares and sighs escaping from her whenever he didn't look at her, whenever she thought she could get away with it. Something was disgusting her to no end, and even more than that, she seemed disgusted that her boyfriend, fiance and lover didn't notice it.
Galen couldn't take that silent revulsion anymore and slowly, quietly spoke to her in that voice - his voice now a bit cold in contrast to the previous warmness that he had held when everything was fine and dandy, when his girlfriend had cuddled up so happily to him in waiting. His fingertips reached up to drape across his face, fingernails scratching along the scruffle that lined his face as he let a low sigh escape from his lips in combination with words that flowed like a sickness.
"What's wrong?" And with that, Roxy shot him, knowing that he saw it, a very cool gaze.
"Don't you even care? Don't you even care that you're gonna be away from me so long, baby? And ya know we don't have a phone at home..." She frowned and gazed across the table with pleading eyes, movements begging for her reassuring and love from this man that she held so dear to her heart, so close to herself. Maybe she came across as a bit needy, though in truth, she meant the best.
But Galen didn't give the usual response he gave when she looked like that, and asked like that, he didn't give her complete and utter self-sacrifice. He didn't relenquish another shot at his dreams like she was used to. He didn't give up and toss himself at her feet like a chewtoy.
Because that wasn't who he was anymore. His voice rang out cold as he spoke once more, a low sigh escaping from his lips as he did so - obviously doing something he felt he might regret in time to come.
"Would it really hurt you that much to be away from me?"
"Yes, babe." She smiled a little, clearly hoping that he would come around, see her side of the situation.
"...Then we're through." And in that moment, for the first time in a long while and the last time to come for a long while, his voice cracked just a little bit. His voice cracked just enough to reveal that interior, the sensitivity that he kept so hidden beneath layers and layers of apathy and determination. His shell cracked for just a peephole to form into the real him as he said the words he once so dreaded hearing, slowly moving so his feet hit the floor - his feet trotting away slowly, though not out of waiting for her. Out of walking at his own pace. Out of beating the drum to his own song.
And he didn't even pause as he heard the next words, the girl he once so held so close in love now held in a false apathy that he had even managed to convince himself of speaking them in a tone so desperate as the man walked away in a manner almost heartless - a hand quickly moving to rest over her belly once more as a couple of tears rolled from her eyes like a leak had sprung in her brain. The engagement ring, as if on cue, fell off his finger at those words as he just continued that ceaseless, immovable walk. Because there was only one thing he knew. And that was that nothing would get in the way of his path to victory.
"Bu-... but what about the baby?"
...nothing?
