Post by Chris Strike on Aug 20, 2010 2:45:47 GMT -5
Towel draped around his neck and head and only wearing his black Nike’s and a pair of navy blue denim jeans, “The God of Thunder” Chris Strike sat against the bench in his small locker room and kept his gaze focused mostly towards the concrete floor. His hands clasped together, his mind simply concentrated on the sudden turn of the events that occurred minutes ago during the main event bout between himself and Josh Eagles – Adam Abel was a nonfactor in this triple threat bout after both Strike and Eagles took it to him within the opening seconds of the bell. Every time he kept thinking about those last seconds, Strike gritted his teeth. Not only did the pain on being locked in the so-called “Walls of Joshico” return to his body (he groaned in further disgust – it was one thing to lose by passing out to a submission, but to lose to a freaking Mary Sue who couldn’t even come up with a proper, creative name for a wrestling maneuver considered to be a “game-winning goal” made him want to march into Josh Eagles’ locker room and end him right there and then), but the image of a dumb, blond behemoth flashed in his eyesight. A smirking Storm pulling the bottom rope away from his grasp, pulling away his hopes of turning the tide on a mediocre wrestler who caught him in a bad predicament and god damnit, it was infuriating.
Over the last few years, Storm was a big fan of threading over the lines that separated men from their own inner monsters. Someway, somehow, by crossing those lines, Storm found a way of unleashing the very primal, angry side of others. Be it via the sneak attacks backstage, the ambushes pre or post-match, the snide remarks, the behemoth had a gift for pushing people’s buttons. There was a common thread here that remained the same through all of the years Chris Strike and Storm crossed paths – Storm was never the submissive personality. He was obsessed with the idea of control, an easy man to predict and anger and yet, he relied on others to bring out his primal instincts. He absolutely loathed the calm, composed kinds like this modern day Chris Strike he now saw walking the halls of Kingdom of Pride.
This blow to his honor was Storm’s way of goading him into doing something to fuel the behemoth’s own libido for bloodshed and violence – it was a sick disease, really; almost as if he was in love with his own testosterone, shunning aside reason and consequence of his actions.
“Chris, are you sure you are alright?” Serena asked for the eighth time in the last fifteen minutes, clearly meaning to interrupt whatever thought process Chris Strike was stewing on. She sat on another bench to the left side of Strike, alternating between checking on him and writing down notes on her notebook, strands of her shoulder-length brown hair covering most of her eyesight from the camera lenses conveniently catching this interesting piece of footage.
Chris Strike remained silent for a few seconds, before finally answering her once more. “I am fine, Serena,” he reassured her. “Just have a fair bit on my mind, that’s all.”
“I may be new to this world you are a part of, but Chris, I am not stupid. Who is this Storm and what kind of bloody vendetta is he holding against you here? It almost sounds like you two…” She paused. It was not a matter of ifs and buts. Even when playing cool, Chris Strike could be read. It was simply a matter of paying attention, be it from the pensive expression to the reassurance that all was perfect within his world. Finally, Serena boldly stated her conclusion. “You two have known each other for a while.”
“Yes,” Strike said, quickly. His eyes darted up and at her figure, his left hand removing strands of hair from his eyesight. “Storm and I go back – there was no love lost between us back then. We had our share of battles. I won most of them. In a way, Storm could see this as the two of us having unfinished business.”
“But I don’t get it,” Serena’s face definitely displayed her confusion. After all, she was a newbie when it came to this cartoony little world of theirs where generic tough guys attempted to play at super sleuths and the baddest sons of bitches who ever lived. “He cost you your match, but it isn’t illegal to beat someone up after the bell rings. Yet, he just stood outside the ring staring at you while you were unconscious…”
Strike held up two fingers in a V sign. “Psychological advantage,” he explained, his right hand returning to its spot on the bench. “Storm thinks that by costing me the match the way he did that he is the one holding the cards, that he’s got my number.”
“Does he?” asked Serena, wondering if Chris was absolutely livid about this debacle and hiding it or whether he was simply biding his time until he had a chance to pay the man known as Storm back.
Strike took in a deep breath, before his lips curled into a smile. “Not a chance,” he said, standing up slowly from the bench. His legs nearly caved in, the suffering the tendons and nerves at the hands of the Walls of Joshico still troubling the self-proclaimed God of Thunder. Serena noticed the short struggle and sat up herself, quite ready to take the steps forward and help him out. Strike held out his right hand and shook his head. “A wrestler has to be prepared to live every day of his life in pain. That’s lesson one in this business, Rena.”
Serena definitely raised an eyebrow, not content with the fact he was being outright stubborn. “You are just being a prideful bastard right now,” she stated, clearly calling out Chris Strike on his foolishness. “The cameras are off, you can relax a little bit. It’s not as if we’re being filmed every second of every hour,” Serena is almost expecting a laugh from the God of Thunder here, but instead, she gets a narrow stare from Strike. She chuckled for a moment, before noticing that he was still staring at her with that same deadpan look in his face. “Right? I mean, Chris, you don’t mean to tell me that…”
Strike nodded his head towards the camera lenses that conveniently filmed this entire segment. Serena slowly turns around, only to find herself staring straight at the lenses. Her eyes widened, the color leaving her cheeks for a moment. “What the fu-”
Before she could finish, loud knocking is heard against the locker room door. Both Chris and Serena shift their focus to the door and seeing it as a perfect chance to not have to explain why there has been a camera man in the corner of the locker room filming this entire bit of conversation and why exactly Serena Gallagher was not warned about it, well, Chris made his way to the door – grunting in annoyance at the pain in his legs with each step. As he swung the door open, there stood a five-foot-ten, bulky man with short brown hair and hardened features. While Chris Strike has seen him in interviews with other roster members, this was his first time meeting the “Mouth of Pride” Alex Avice in the flesh and bone. Grinning, Alex revealed a microphone in his right hand, bringing it to his lips while motioning for the cameraman to get a clearer shot of the two. Serena somehow sidesteps out of the camera’s view, the color in her cheeks still lost out of this invasion of their privacy. Not to mention the fact Chris FAILED to mention they were being filmed from the get-go.
Finally, Alex Avice gave the cameraman a thumbs-up and his expression changed, taking a more professional tone and poise. “Ladies and gentleman, joining me at the moment is Kingdom of Pride’s hottest free agent acquisition, the two-thousand and ten Wrestling World Cup champion and the God of Thunder…Chris Strike,” He paused, as Chris Strike’s expression did not change. He did not remember asking for an interview – at all. Ignoring Strike’s silent confusion, Avice carried on. “Chris, you put on one hell of a showing tonight, but thanks to Storm’s actions, you were submitted by Josh Eagles. On top of that, I’ve gotten word you are facing Johnny Noble this next week. What are your thoughts on being humiliated by possibly the most dangerous man in Kingdom of Pride and having to face one of its brightest stars this next week?”
Strike erased all doubts from his face, surprisingly quick on his response. His tone was soft and yet, it bore a simple forewarning as his eyes narrowed. “Johnny, I’ll talk about him at some point next week. Next time Storm tries this shit, I am going to curb stomp that motherfucker dead so many times, even Dru Dallins will be eating his heart out. Now scram!”
Without any warning, Strike stepped forward and literally shoved Alex Avice a few feet backwards, watching as the Mouth of Pride fell on his ass, the shock on his face being registered by means of widened eyes and a mouth just a bit too open. Before Avice can even react to what transpired, Strike grabbed the door to the locker room and with one simple motion, shut the door behind him. Letting out a sigh, he turned around and felt the left side of his face sting. He winced and it was all due to a right open hand swinging for the fences and clocking his left cheek with a fierce slap. The force of it caught Chris by surprise, as he took one step back, astonishingly gazing at Serena Gallagher’s furious expression.
“You bloody arse,” she uttered very slowly. “A little warning that there were bloody fucking cameras filming us would have been nice!”
Chris sighed. “It’s another thing about this business. If you’re within the arena and you have Sterling and Noble’s blessing, odds are, you are going to be on camera somehow.” His explanation did not exactly appease her. In fact, her lips joining together closely while she bit down her teeth in order to keep from exploding meant that unless he apologized immediately, there would be another slap coming his way. “Look, I am sorry that I didn’t warn about this earlier. But you are here to research your new book, this is going to be shown on TV and the internet and guess what – not only is it helping me get my point across, but it’s also promoting you as an author and getting people hyped for what you’re going to come up with next.” Strike paused, rubbing his cheek, still burning red from the impact of the slap. “However, I can let Kurt and Jeremy know to not film you if you feel uncomfortable doing this.”
Serena held back the urge of grabbing Chris by the neck at this point and choking him. “That’s not my it, you idiot! I am fine with being on camera,” she took in a deep breath, as when her temper grew short like right now, it made her revert to throwing around Gaelic insults. “Just…a little heads up next time around? For all I know, this cameraman here could have been peeping on me while I was changing earlier.”
“Fine. You hear that, camera boy,” Strike turned his head slightly so as to match the cameraman’s gaze. “Just for you and other staff guys, give the lady a warning whenever you are ready to shoot your footage if I somehow don’t catch you first and let her know.” The camera shook slightly, probably due to a nod in return from the man behind the lenses. “Thanks. That better, Rena?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, all while taking a few deep breaths. Serena also took her seat back onto her bench, rubbing her temples with her hands after doing so. “It definitely did not help when that other guy showed up and you did what you did.”
“Avice?” Strike chuckled, Serena’s inexperience to the business and to Chris’ own personality in display once again. “The dweeb will live. He’ll get his interview, but not tonight. Especially given what he told me.”
“About facing Johnny Noble next week?” Serena asked, clearly having caught that name out of this Avice fella’s mouth.
Strike nodded, as the thought of facing Kurt Noble’s younger brother so soon within his Kingdom of Pride career coming as somewhat of a shock. “I need to get ready for my match against him,” Strike said, finally, walking back towards the bench where he sat. His right hand reached out for his duffel bag, unzipping it open.
“Okay. So, what’s the plan?” Serena asked, her expression easily giving in the fact she did not have any other immediate plans besides writing her book. Not to mention, seeing how Chris Strike prepared for a match gave her material to work with on her novel, obviously.
“Training,” said Strike, reaching out for and retrieving a black “Kingdom Hearts II” t-shirt from the bag. “At the Hydeout.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Okay, the Hydeout. But…the fuck is the Hydeout?”
Chris put on the t-shirt, zipping the duffel bag closed and brought it up to his right shoulder by the strap. As he looked at Serena, there was a sly grin on his lips. “You’ll see.”
--------------------
When given Chris Strike’s own experience with Kurt Noble in his months as a member of Pro Wrestling FIRE, he almost half-expected this match to happen at a super card in the near future or (boldly as it was) with the Valiant title on the line. Yet, Strike almost had forgotten that Johnny was still by some to be a rookie (the funnier part of this being that Johnny was a day older than Chris) and that given Kingdom of Pride was still growing, a match of this caliber was needed to bring forth the clientele and to excite them, to make them continue to endorse the Kingdom and its accolades.
Even though the name was familiar, the repertoire of moves and the attitude was far more different and thus, it was time for Chris to focus and train. Thus, it was time to visit his former tag team partner’s personal stomping grounds in Tampa, Florida and to also check out and see how the place he was a part-time owner of was doing as of late – it was time to visit the Hydeout.
Because the God of Thunder was in for one hell of a war this next week!
Over the last few years, Storm was a big fan of threading over the lines that separated men from their own inner monsters. Someway, somehow, by crossing those lines, Storm found a way of unleashing the very primal, angry side of others. Be it via the sneak attacks backstage, the ambushes pre or post-match, the snide remarks, the behemoth had a gift for pushing people’s buttons. There was a common thread here that remained the same through all of the years Chris Strike and Storm crossed paths – Storm was never the submissive personality. He was obsessed with the idea of control, an easy man to predict and anger and yet, he relied on others to bring out his primal instincts. He absolutely loathed the calm, composed kinds like this modern day Chris Strike he now saw walking the halls of Kingdom of Pride.
This blow to his honor was Storm’s way of goading him into doing something to fuel the behemoth’s own libido for bloodshed and violence – it was a sick disease, really; almost as if he was in love with his own testosterone, shunning aside reason and consequence of his actions.
“Chris, are you sure you are alright?” Serena asked for the eighth time in the last fifteen minutes, clearly meaning to interrupt whatever thought process Chris Strike was stewing on. She sat on another bench to the left side of Strike, alternating between checking on him and writing down notes on her notebook, strands of her shoulder-length brown hair covering most of her eyesight from the camera lenses conveniently catching this interesting piece of footage.
Chris Strike remained silent for a few seconds, before finally answering her once more. “I am fine, Serena,” he reassured her. “Just have a fair bit on my mind, that’s all.”
“I may be new to this world you are a part of, but Chris, I am not stupid. Who is this Storm and what kind of bloody vendetta is he holding against you here? It almost sounds like you two…” She paused. It was not a matter of ifs and buts. Even when playing cool, Chris Strike could be read. It was simply a matter of paying attention, be it from the pensive expression to the reassurance that all was perfect within his world. Finally, Serena boldly stated her conclusion. “You two have known each other for a while.”
“Yes,” Strike said, quickly. His eyes darted up and at her figure, his left hand removing strands of hair from his eyesight. “Storm and I go back – there was no love lost between us back then. We had our share of battles. I won most of them. In a way, Storm could see this as the two of us having unfinished business.”
“But I don’t get it,” Serena’s face definitely displayed her confusion. After all, she was a newbie when it came to this cartoony little world of theirs where generic tough guys attempted to play at super sleuths and the baddest sons of bitches who ever lived. “He cost you your match, but it isn’t illegal to beat someone up after the bell rings. Yet, he just stood outside the ring staring at you while you were unconscious…”
Strike held up two fingers in a V sign. “Psychological advantage,” he explained, his right hand returning to its spot on the bench. “Storm thinks that by costing me the match the way he did that he is the one holding the cards, that he’s got my number.”
“Does he?” asked Serena, wondering if Chris was absolutely livid about this debacle and hiding it or whether he was simply biding his time until he had a chance to pay the man known as Storm back.
Strike took in a deep breath, before his lips curled into a smile. “Not a chance,” he said, standing up slowly from the bench. His legs nearly caved in, the suffering the tendons and nerves at the hands of the Walls of Joshico still troubling the self-proclaimed God of Thunder. Serena noticed the short struggle and sat up herself, quite ready to take the steps forward and help him out. Strike held out his right hand and shook his head. “A wrestler has to be prepared to live every day of his life in pain. That’s lesson one in this business, Rena.”
Serena definitely raised an eyebrow, not content with the fact he was being outright stubborn. “You are just being a prideful bastard right now,” she stated, clearly calling out Chris Strike on his foolishness. “The cameras are off, you can relax a little bit. It’s not as if we’re being filmed every second of every hour,” Serena is almost expecting a laugh from the God of Thunder here, but instead, she gets a narrow stare from Strike. She chuckled for a moment, before noticing that he was still staring at her with that same deadpan look in his face. “Right? I mean, Chris, you don’t mean to tell me that…”
Strike nodded his head towards the camera lenses that conveniently filmed this entire segment. Serena slowly turns around, only to find herself staring straight at the lenses. Her eyes widened, the color leaving her cheeks for a moment. “What the fu-”
Before she could finish, loud knocking is heard against the locker room door. Both Chris and Serena shift their focus to the door and seeing it as a perfect chance to not have to explain why there has been a camera man in the corner of the locker room filming this entire bit of conversation and why exactly Serena Gallagher was not warned about it, well, Chris made his way to the door – grunting in annoyance at the pain in his legs with each step. As he swung the door open, there stood a five-foot-ten, bulky man with short brown hair and hardened features. While Chris Strike has seen him in interviews with other roster members, this was his first time meeting the “Mouth of Pride” Alex Avice in the flesh and bone. Grinning, Alex revealed a microphone in his right hand, bringing it to his lips while motioning for the cameraman to get a clearer shot of the two. Serena somehow sidesteps out of the camera’s view, the color in her cheeks still lost out of this invasion of their privacy. Not to mention the fact Chris FAILED to mention they were being filmed from the get-go.
Finally, Alex Avice gave the cameraman a thumbs-up and his expression changed, taking a more professional tone and poise. “Ladies and gentleman, joining me at the moment is Kingdom of Pride’s hottest free agent acquisition, the two-thousand and ten Wrestling World Cup champion and the God of Thunder…Chris Strike,” He paused, as Chris Strike’s expression did not change. He did not remember asking for an interview – at all. Ignoring Strike’s silent confusion, Avice carried on. “Chris, you put on one hell of a showing tonight, but thanks to Storm’s actions, you were submitted by Josh Eagles. On top of that, I’ve gotten word you are facing Johnny Noble this next week. What are your thoughts on being humiliated by possibly the most dangerous man in Kingdom of Pride and having to face one of its brightest stars this next week?”
Strike erased all doubts from his face, surprisingly quick on his response. His tone was soft and yet, it bore a simple forewarning as his eyes narrowed. “Johnny, I’ll talk about him at some point next week. Next time Storm tries this shit, I am going to curb stomp that motherfucker dead so many times, even Dru Dallins will be eating his heart out. Now scram!”
Without any warning, Strike stepped forward and literally shoved Alex Avice a few feet backwards, watching as the Mouth of Pride fell on his ass, the shock on his face being registered by means of widened eyes and a mouth just a bit too open. Before Avice can even react to what transpired, Strike grabbed the door to the locker room and with one simple motion, shut the door behind him. Letting out a sigh, he turned around and felt the left side of his face sting. He winced and it was all due to a right open hand swinging for the fences and clocking his left cheek with a fierce slap. The force of it caught Chris by surprise, as he took one step back, astonishingly gazing at Serena Gallagher’s furious expression.
“You bloody arse,” she uttered very slowly. “A little warning that there were bloody fucking cameras filming us would have been nice!”
Chris sighed. “It’s another thing about this business. If you’re within the arena and you have Sterling and Noble’s blessing, odds are, you are going to be on camera somehow.” His explanation did not exactly appease her. In fact, her lips joining together closely while she bit down her teeth in order to keep from exploding meant that unless he apologized immediately, there would be another slap coming his way. “Look, I am sorry that I didn’t warn about this earlier. But you are here to research your new book, this is going to be shown on TV and the internet and guess what – not only is it helping me get my point across, but it’s also promoting you as an author and getting people hyped for what you’re going to come up with next.” Strike paused, rubbing his cheek, still burning red from the impact of the slap. “However, I can let Kurt and Jeremy know to not film you if you feel uncomfortable doing this.”
Serena held back the urge of grabbing Chris by the neck at this point and choking him. “That’s not my it, you idiot! I am fine with being on camera,” she took in a deep breath, as when her temper grew short like right now, it made her revert to throwing around Gaelic insults. “Just…a little heads up next time around? For all I know, this cameraman here could have been peeping on me while I was changing earlier.”
“Fine. You hear that, camera boy,” Strike turned his head slightly so as to match the cameraman’s gaze. “Just for you and other staff guys, give the lady a warning whenever you are ready to shoot your footage if I somehow don’t catch you first and let her know.” The camera shook slightly, probably due to a nod in return from the man behind the lenses. “Thanks. That better, Rena?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, all while taking a few deep breaths. Serena also took her seat back onto her bench, rubbing her temples with her hands after doing so. “It definitely did not help when that other guy showed up and you did what you did.”
“Avice?” Strike chuckled, Serena’s inexperience to the business and to Chris’ own personality in display once again. “The dweeb will live. He’ll get his interview, but not tonight. Especially given what he told me.”
“About facing Johnny Noble next week?” Serena asked, clearly having caught that name out of this Avice fella’s mouth.
Strike nodded, as the thought of facing Kurt Noble’s younger brother so soon within his Kingdom of Pride career coming as somewhat of a shock. “I need to get ready for my match against him,” Strike said, finally, walking back towards the bench where he sat. His right hand reached out for his duffel bag, unzipping it open.
“Okay. So, what’s the plan?” Serena asked, her expression easily giving in the fact she did not have any other immediate plans besides writing her book. Not to mention, seeing how Chris Strike prepared for a match gave her material to work with on her novel, obviously.
“Training,” said Strike, reaching out for and retrieving a black “Kingdom Hearts II” t-shirt from the bag. “At the Hydeout.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Okay, the Hydeout. But…the fuck is the Hydeout?”
Chris put on the t-shirt, zipping the duffel bag closed and brought it up to his right shoulder by the strap. As he looked at Serena, there was a sly grin on his lips. “You’ll see.”
--------------------
When given Chris Strike’s own experience with Kurt Noble in his months as a member of Pro Wrestling FIRE, he almost half-expected this match to happen at a super card in the near future or (boldly as it was) with the Valiant title on the line. Yet, Strike almost had forgotten that Johnny was still by some to be a rookie (the funnier part of this being that Johnny was a day older than Chris) and that given Kingdom of Pride was still growing, a match of this caliber was needed to bring forth the clientele and to excite them, to make them continue to endorse the Kingdom and its accolades.
Even though the name was familiar, the repertoire of moves and the attitude was far more different and thus, it was time for Chris to focus and train. Thus, it was time to visit his former tag team partner’s personal stomping grounds in Tampa, Florida and to also check out and see how the place he was a part-time owner of was doing as of late – it was time to visit the Hydeout.
Because the God of Thunder was in for one hell of a war this next week!
