002. A Cup Of Tea On A Sunny Day
Jan 14, 2018 23:00:51 GMT
CEO Vincent Pryde, Commish Lamarche, and 2 more like this
Post by LΞGATO on Jan 14, 2018 23:00:51 GMT
“Legato, you know this is going to kill you one day?”
The honeyed words came from a female that tended to each one of Legato’s wounds. She measured the damage instilled in his match against Corey Bull. Namely, the woman, with her gently dyed platinum hair, checked the broken skin from a counter back elbow. She had already noted the numerous bruises, knowing that a monster of a man had to cause them. She sighed, and administered antibacterial to the wound, which didn’t bring a reaction of the stoic young man sitting in her chair. After doing so, she taped the wound shut with a bandage, hoping that it would do the trick. She grabbed on Legato’s head, tilting it upward to check his eyes. They always seemed to be translucent from a distance, but she managed to get a glimpse of the barely blue hue that rested there. Legato looked nonchalantly at her, possibly trying to understand what she was doing—he must have felt okay enough to get up. She let go of his head, letting it drop down, and Legato flexed her jaw, regaining full control.
“You’re lucky that you’re tough,” the makeshift nurse said, returning her tools to a small pink bag, “I wish I had those genetics. Maybe I wouldn’t tweak my knee every other day,” she didn’t chuckle behind her own joke. Legato didn’t respond, merely getting up from his seat. He went over to the doorway, snatching his leather jacket off a rung. Putting it on brought his friend from her daydream, and she looked over to him. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, as the midday sun lowered into the apartment. A hue of off-green touched her skin, and highlighted her hazel eyes.
Legato nodded, giving his thanks without words.
Rooney, sighing out stress, maneuvered over to a record player. She put on some random vinyl, only taking a moment to see if she wanted to go with her selection. With a shrug, she put it on. When the needle came on, “She Shines” by Ashley Barnett came on. Rooney seemed comforted by the noir atmosphere the song brought into her abode. She took time to respond to Legato’s thanks.
“You know, Legato, I took up medicine not to stay hidden away in some ratty apartment,” she started, looking over her shabby chic design choices. Her tea kettle started to go off, which she rushed over to. Legato returned into the home, knowing that she’d offer a cup to him. “I got wrapped up with your family, and now I’m stuck trying to help any underground badass that creeps my way. You know how good I got at removing bloodstains out of carpets?”
The blonde-haired fighter’s face told her that he didn’t know.
“That’s not a good thing to be good at.”
Legato reached for a fleeting Granola bar for help, eating it with a vague nervousness over what Rooney was going on about.
“I’m just glad that this came from wrestling,” she added, where a smile came and went for just a sliver.
There wasn’t a moment of wasted motion in Rooney’s life. Even fidgets came with a purpose. She dragged the drooping sleeve of her jacket, that was just one degree too big for her. She went back to the visible kitchen, finding her preferred tea cups without any effort. Selecting Legato’s cup became a game in her hand, and one that Legato knew about by random chance. She took a smaller cup down, and checked to see if she had cleaned it to her standards. Satisfied, she brought Legato a cup of tea. He smelled hints of lavender upon taking up the handle. Meanwhile, she put sugar in her cup and stirred gently.
“I take it you’re doing just to pass the time? Or are you chasing something?” she asked, before taking a sip.
Legato’s eyebrows furrowed.
“If you’re just passing the time between assignments, I think wrestling’s a poor choice. You can get injured—beyond what I can fix—and then you’re out of work,” she motioned with her spoon, “and you’ll be vulnerable.”
She had logic in spades.
“So, I take it you’re trying to fulfill some void in your life,” she didn’t mind the harshness, “I can see it in your eyes.”
Legato didn't look up.
"It's nice to see some passion in those dead eyes of yours."
“I don’t like your tone,” Legato started, “by that, I mean, I don’t like loudmouth managers that try to craft the world for their clients. I get that it’s your job to make your man seem like the strongest there is. However, I see that you have the arrogance of a man who just won the lottery. Meanwhile, I’ve come to think that you and your client don’t share the same thoughts. I feel like you’re relying too heavily on your voice and your delusional vision of what he can be, rather than what actually is there.”
“I guess I can go with the whole preacher mindset,” the stoic man spoke to himself mostly, but he shrugged, “welcome to church.”
“What makes you think that your client has the power to stop me?”
“A seven-foot monster with gold to match his weight couldn’t stop me.”
“That match wasn’t a display of competition; it was a message to everyone else. I’m Legato Fulbright, and welcome to my story. I’m coming for the NBW World Championship, as everyone can understand by now.”
“Heavy Metal is a cool epithet to have,” Legato admitted, “and we both got this main event spot to send our next messages to the entire roster. The true intention of my message wasn’t to simply win, and show that I can beat a world champion. I did what I did in that ring to say that no one should play their games with me. Unfortunately for you, 'Heavy Metal', your manager did just that. He started to play this game where he thought he could insult me because he saw you as my superior."
"I can't describe to you how wrong that is."
"However, this match will provide me with the answer to a question I've asked myself over and over again."
Legato's eyes tried to pierce through the camera.
"Can I break metal with just my strikes?"
The honeyed words came from a female that tended to each one of Legato’s wounds. She measured the damage instilled in his match against Corey Bull. Namely, the woman, with her gently dyed platinum hair, checked the broken skin from a counter back elbow. She had already noted the numerous bruises, knowing that a monster of a man had to cause them. She sighed, and administered antibacterial to the wound, which didn’t bring a reaction of the stoic young man sitting in her chair. After doing so, she taped the wound shut with a bandage, hoping that it would do the trick. She grabbed on Legato’s head, tilting it upward to check his eyes. They always seemed to be translucent from a distance, but she managed to get a glimpse of the barely blue hue that rested there. Legato looked nonchalantly at her, possibly trying to understand what she was doing—he must have felt okay enough to get up. She let go of his head, letting it drop down, and Legato flexed her jaw, regaining full control.
“You’re lucky that you’re tough,” the makeshift nurse said, returning her tools to a small pink bag, “I wish I had those genetics. Maybe I wouldn’t tweak my knee every other day,” she didn’t chuckle behind her own joke. Legato didn’t respond, merely getting up from his seat. He went over to the doorway, snatching his leather jacket off a rung. Putting it on brought his friend from her daydream, and she looked over to him. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, as the midday sun lowered into the apartment. A hue of off-green touched her skin, and highlighted her hazel eyes.
Legato nodded, giving his thanks without words.
Rooney, sighing out stress, maneuvered over to a record player. She put on some random vinyl, only taking a moment to see if she wanted to go with her selection. With a shrug, she put it on. When the needle came on, “She Shines” by Ashley Barnett came on. Rooney seemed comforted by the noir atmosphere the song brought into her abode. She took time to respond to Legato’s thanks.
“You know, Legato, I took up medicine not to stay hidden away in some ratty apartment,” she started, looking over her shabby chic design choices. Her tea kettle started to go off, which she rushed over to. Legato returned into the home, knowing that she’d offer a cup to him. “I got wrapped up with your family, and now I’m stuck trying to help any underground badass that creeps my way. You know how good I got at removing bloodstains out of carpets?”
The blonde-haired fighter’s face told her that he didn’t know.
“That’s not a good thing to be good at.”
Legato reached for a fleeting Granola bar for help, eating it with a vague nervousness over what Rooney was going on about.
“I’m just glad that this came from wrestling,” she added, where a smile came and went for just a sliver.
There wasn’t a moment of wasted motion in Rooney’s life. Even fidgets came with a purpose. She dragged the drooping sleeve of her jacket, that was just one degree too big for her. She went back to the visible kitchen, finding her preferred tea cups without any effort. Selecting Legato’s cup became a game in her hand, and one that Legato knew about by random chance. She took a smaller cup down, and checked to see if she had cleaned it to her standards. Satisfied, she brought Legato a cup of tea. He smelled hints of lavender upon taking up the handle. Meanwhile, she put sugar in her cup and stirred gently.
“I take it you’re doing just to pass the time? Or are you chasing something?” she asked, before taking a sip.
Legato’s eyebrows furrowed.
“If you’re just passing the time between assignments, I think wrestling’s a poor choice. You can get injured—beyond what I can fix—and then you’re out of work,” she motioned with her spoon, “and you’ll be vulnerable.”
She had logic in spades.
“So, I take it you’re trying to fulfill some void in your life,” she didn’t mind the harshness, “I can see it in your eyes.”
Legato didn't look up.
"It's nice to see some passion in those dead eyes of yours."
“I don’t like your tone,” Legato started, “by that, I mean, I don’t like loudmouth managers that try to craft the world for their clients. I get that it’s your job to make your man seem like the strongest there is. However, I see that you have the arrogance of a man who just won the lottery. Meanwhile, I’ve come to think that you and your client don’t share the same thoughts. I feel like you’re relying too heavily on your voice and your delusional vision of what he can be, rather than what actually is there.”
“I guess I can go with the whole preacher mindset,” the stoic man spoke to himself mostly, but he shrugged, “welcome to church.”
“What makes you think that your client has the power to stop me?”
“A seven-foot monster with gold to match his weight couldn’t stop me.”
“That match wasn’t a display of competition; it was a message to everyone else. I’m Legato Fulbright, and welcome to my story. I’m coming for the NBW World Championship, as everyone can understand by now.”
“Heavy Metal is a cool epithet to have,” Legato admitted, “and we both got this main event spot to send our next messages to the entire roster. The true intention of my message wasn’t to simply win, and show that I can beat a world champion. I did what I did in that ring to say that no one should play their games with me. Unfortunately for you, 'Heavy Metal', your manager did just that. He started to play this game where he thought he could insult me because he saw you as my superior."
"I can't describe to you how wrong that is."
"However, this match will provide me with the answer to a question I've asked myself over and over again."
Legato's eyes tried to pierce through the camera.
"Can I break metal with just my strikes?"