12-10-2020, 05:16 PM
12-16-2020, 12:37 AM
The Time Traveler: Chapter 7: Unhealing Wounds
OOC: Practically no motivation. This year sucks. Maybe something can be built off of it at least. Maybe.
OOC: Practically no motivation. This year sucks. Maybe something can be built off of it at least. Maybe.
12-16-2020, 12:53 AM
After The Storm
“Mr. Brando, you have officially meddled in affairs beyond your scope, your pay grade, and your importance. You shouldn’t have done that, and I’m going to ask you politely to exit the situation. If you don’t, you know how this song and dance goes. You’re going to have to go through a lot of people, and you’re no John Wick, and this is no action movie. This is reality, and you’re going to die just like any other man.”
“Cold, alone, and shitting all over yourself.”
Klein’s words rang in Devin’s ears while he waited for whatever came next. His body ached, and he couldn’t catch his breath. The menace was right; Devin wasn’t John Wick or anything close. He had the skill, but he was still just a man. While he tried to pry himself off the ground, he felt nauseous.
“You served your time well, Brando. Sleep well, old friend.”
*BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP*
The ending to the nightmare had to wait, thanks to the interference from Devin’s deafening alarm clock. He rolled over in bed and grabbed onto his phone. A routine effort, the alarm was disabled without Devin’s eyes even bothering to look. Bones popped, bruises ached, and a minor headache took root in Devin’s head as he looked outside. He was alive, and the sunlight was blinding.
JUNE 1ST 2020
There weren’t many times that Devin woke up in New Jersey to sunlight. Perhaps, it was a reward for his victory last night. The replay in his mind brought an iota of joy to him, but not enough to purchase a smile. He moved blankets upon blankets until he was free from his comfortable prison, and threw his legs off the bed to the ground. An old buddy had once again let him crash at one of his residences. He would have to thank Derek somehow, probably by sending him something to distract the kids with. A sigh escaped him as he made the effort to get up. Normal morning efforts followed, except for a longer moment taken staring in the mirror. It wasn’t a vain act, no, he did so to observe the many welts and bruises he gained fighting Pina Coladas, the spry, fiery duo. He tapped against one of his cheeks and hissed at the small jolt of pain that responded.
He was yawning as he walked out of his room, strolling into the kitchen. The cool air of the space tickled against his bare chest, and more so at the welts there. “God, those kids were rough,” he thought to himself as he winded his arm around in an effort to loosen his shoulder. Opening the fridge gave him options on what to make, and then he recalled that something else.
Devin wasn’t alone. He had a ball of joy, life, and snark somewhere in the area, and her name was Lyza.
Lyza Reyes.
At least he normally wore pants to bed. Anything else she should be used to.
Between traveling and competing in SCW’s Tag Team Tournament, the morning after their win at the finals felt like the last night of a multi-destination vacation. Lyza is satisfied with the outcome and had her affirmation that she was still competent in the ring. The training boot camps with Devin proved to be effective, even though she wouldn’t be the first to bring them up so soon.
While drinking water, she spotted Devin entering the kitchen through the glass cup, placing it gently on the table before addressing him.
“Greetings and salutations. Welcome to the year 2021, the year of the Ox according to Chinese Horoscope. You’ve slept through the remainder of 2020 and the world is still...the world. The upside is that this is projected to be a year of recovery financially and career-wise,” Lyza said, knowing how outlandish her statement sounded before the man had his morning cup of coffee.
Devin affirmed the outlandish statement by giving Lyza a tired look. “How are you this chipper this early? Do you just inject caffeine directly into your veins?”
He struggled to get the coffee grounds into the maker, which would make some of his friend's cackle. He was the picture of a sharp-dressed man with many different skills. He could tell anyone about how to make coffee the best way, but here he was, embarrassing himself. With a low growl, he finally completed the task and rested his body against the countertop.
“Or have we found some new drug for it this year?” he added, humoring Lyza’s peculiar sense of humor.
Lyza refrained from offering any assistance with preparing the coffee, knowing he would not accept. “No caffeine as of yet. I start off my mornings with water to get the metabolism going. Clean start. This chipper vibe you’re getting from me is the result of sleeping like a baby after a major victory!”
She raised her glass at him in a congratulatory manner.
“If I could suggest or create any drug at this time, I would go with something derived from lithium, because WOW,” she said in reference to the current events.
In her case, she’d opt for something that could undo anything that was related to Stolzen, from the experiments to the psychological warfare. Without any waivers being signed, she could have a field day in court with the pharmaceutical company. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be as simple as a thirty-minute episode of Judge Judy where everything would come out in Lyza’s favor after some exchanges and quips from the iconic judge herself.
“So what happens now? Summer recess? I have heard lovely things about New Zealand.”
“If that’s where you want to go, I’m cool with it,” Devin pondered for a moment. “I don’t remember going there much. But it’s better than this hellscape right now.”
“It’s picturesque, decent government and Peter Jackson’s playground for filming epic movies!” Lyza said, enthusiastically.
Humoring her conversation for a moment, Devin couldn’t help but return back to the matter at hand. It was only a matter of time before Stolzen and whoever else they had would come back for Lyza. And really, Devin had no answers to why. His eyebrows tensed and he went to retrieve a shirt and pants. When he returned, he sat down close to Lyza, his cold eyes trained on her.
“Lyza, is there anything you need to tell me about this situation? Because it seems that our lives are more intertwined than I had originally thought,” he said, in reference to their meeting, thanks to a mutual friend. “And we both know the kind of danger that we’re in.”
The dreaded question was thrown at her when it needed to be as she had no excuses or ways to defer from it. She leaned back against her chair, forming a serious expression.
“First thing you need to know is that I can only speak on behalf of my experience in dealing with them as their guinea pig. When I first had any recollection of going to the lab, it was like going to the doctor’s, but definitely wasn’t your Mickey Mouse covered walls and coloring books environment,” she recalled, taking another sip from her water.
She then continued her recollection, “They had my parents fooled for a while, basically taking advantage of the fact that my mother had a high-risk pregnancy with me. Ever since she accepted their help, I became collateral for future experiments. Medical treatments, umm physical things like boot camp drills, that was the front they’d put up when the parents were around.”
With the language barrier between Lyza’s parents and the Stolzen employees, they were left under the impression that they were sending their daughter to a government-funded specialist in the pediatrics division. From the constant threats and stalking, she could never be truthful to her parents as their lives were in jeopardy. She moved the glass a few inches away from her to create more space.
“It was the perfect cover-up as no signs of abuse were visible, and we were free to go home when they were finished. I only knew as much as I discovered on my own, which were the lasting effects of what was injected in me. Unfortunately, Klein and his people also know, which is why I’m still a commodity to them,” she sighed, leaning her head against the wall beside her.
Devin’s knowledge of the experimentations wasn’t vast. Being taken down to the laboratory, he witnessed glimpses out of the corner of his eyes. In the time that he spent as a dog of their company, he may have seen Lyza. Regret swamped his heart for a moment, but he sent it away, knowing that the situation was impossible.
“With that said, you don’t know how many times I’ve practiced this type of conversation in my head. The funny thing is, it never gets any less strange the more I reenact it.” She sits up, feeling a slight weight has been taken from her. This was the most she had opened up to anyone with respect to her association with Stolzen and their employees.
“...Is it time to kill me yet?”
The words hit Devin like a truck. He felt his face tell Lyza the story, and he quickly went to fix it. He let out a sigh.
“Kill you?”
Such an odd question to ask casually out in the open. Many people have asked him if it was time for them to die—-murdered. He never had an answer, even when he was the one providing the outcome.
“No, I don’t think so,” he added.
His response provided further reassurance. This was an indication that they could further pursue wrestling tenures as a duo.
“Groovy. I don’t want to retaliate against my own tag team partner. I’ve seen it played out on screen and it makes me sad when someone wants to part ways with deceit,” she shakes her head disapprovingly. “Plus, I have ideas for merch, so your presence is definitely appreciated!”
“Shouldn’t we...shouldn’t we, uh, get back to wrestling before that? Get a foothold?” Devin asked, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.
Introductions to the two winners of the World’s Best tournament were not needed at the moment. Instead, there were more pressing matters, such as the whiteboard etched with random plans and grids that led to no valid conclusion. Or rather, they were things that only the two people in the frame could understand. Sitting in a seat with his arms crossed was Devin Brando, looking the part of Clark Kent. His ochre hair had been slicked back and his thick-rimmed glasses complimented the stern expression on his face. His tie was loosened a bit, but he still appeared as grim as ever.
“Lyza and I have spent some time studying our opponents for our return back to SCW. It’s important to do so because we have a reputation to uphold. Breaching past the boundary of being a guest into the realm of a mainstay roster member means that we have to put our right foot forward,” Devin pointed at the whiteboard. “And this is our first step. This is gibberish to all of you because Lyza and I have constructed a system of communication.”
“Which if by the way that our opponents speak, I’m not sure if they can talk to themselves, let alone one another.”
Devin stood up, pressing the tip of his pen against the whiteboard.
“The fear of hatred and what it does to people is the highlight of their past conversations.”
The camera moved over to Lyza, who was seated on top of a desk. She wore a mix of Clark Kent’s attire and Lois Lane’s, leaning somewhere in the middle. She fanned herself with a bundle of papers. “It’s a shame that they’re both too much inside of their heads.”
“Like they’re not even here,” Devin added.
“Kelsai’s whole diatribe about how she hates losing is a roundabout way to make it to the simple conclusion--she’s afraid of what she’ll become when she loses herself,” he continued. “And that’s sickening to me.”
Lyza shot her partner a look, hearing his cynical, disparaging nature seeping out.
“Don’t look at me like that. You rolled your eyes at Gold’s search for sympathy about his daughter.”
As a retort, Lyza sighed and didn’t press the issue. “Gold’s scattered,” she pointed to the grid that has no end. Gold’s name was in the center and none of the lines put together.
“But I think you’re right, Dev,” she said, returning attention to the man standing. “I think they both can use this loss as a way to self-reflect. They cannot come into this match, worried about images. Either you’re going to be a horrible person or you’re not.”
Devin nodded. “And if you’re debating what side of the coin you’re going to lean towards, then you’re making yourself weak. I can’t fathom losing to anyone who isn’t sure of themselves and isn’t honest with themselves. Gold says that he didn’t return for the drama, but he came back for Kelsai to help save him? But he’s a step away from returning back to the same kind of person that he used to be.”
“And Kelsai?” Lyza tilted her head.
The camera crawled behind Devin, where he stood in front of a picture of the young woman.
“I guess we’re her litmus test. She loses to us, and we may push her further towards the mirror. She can answer Bree’s question a bit clearer this time around. And maybe she’ll be better for it.”
“Is that from experience?” Lyza chuckled.
Devin let a smile across his features. “Yes, and I think I felt better when I discovered that I was a piece of shit.”
“You think Kelsai’s the same way?”
“The way she spoke in circles, trying to avoid blame? Oh, yes, I think that’s the case. It’s not a bad thing either. It’s not being one that’s the issue. It’s what you do to try to prevent or intensify the persona that’s the question.”
“And where do we fall in line with this moral conundrum?” Lyza said, hopping off the table to stand next to her tag team partner.
Devin narrowed his eyes.
“We don’t fall anywhere, Lyza. We’re competitors. Whatever result that comes, we aren’t involved with their personal struggles. We go out there, try to win, and if we don’t?”
Lyza chimed in with a giggle. “We pick ourselves up and try again?”
“Yes, because we’re honest with ourselves, and we’re not fighting our internal monologues.”
“Ouch, that’s a little harsh,” she jabbed him in the ribs, to which Devin sent her a glare.
“I can’t be anything but. I don’t like playing therapist.”
Devin turned on his heel and began to walk out of the room. Lyza stayed back, staring at him for a moment with an amused expression. As the door closed, as evident by the sound, she turned back to the whiteboard. She reached over and took Devin’s coffee, stirring it and trying it. She cringed and threw it away with a disgusted gag following.
“Why did it have to be black?” she mumbled. “Bitter old man.”
She swigged some water from her bottle and returned to focusing on the graph they both made.
“It’s time for these two to get a wake-up call, huh?”
CUT.
“Mr. Brando, you have officially meddled in affairs beyond your scope, your pay grade, and your importance. You shouldn’t have done that, and I’m going to ask you politely to exit the situation. If you don’t, you know how this song and dance goes. You’re going to have to go through a lot of people, and you’re no John Wick, and this is no action movie. This is reality, and you’re going to die just like any other man.”
“Cold, alone, and shitting all over yourself.”
Klein’s words rang in Devin’s ears while he waited for whatever came next. His body ached, and he couldn’t catch his breath. The menace was right; Devin wasn’t John Wick or anything close. He had the skill, but he was still just a man. While he tried to pry himself off the ground, he felt nauseous.
“You served your time well, Brando. Sleep well, old friend.”
*BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP*
The ending to the nightmare had to wait, thanks to the interference from Devin’s deafening alarm clock. He rolled over in bed and grabbed onto his phone. A routine effort, the alarm was disabled without Devin’s eyes even bothering to look. Bones popped, bruises ached, and a minor headache took root in Devin’s head as he looked outside. He was alive, and the sunlight was blinding.
JUNE 1ST 2020
There weren’t many times that Devin woke up in New Jersey to sunlight. Perhaps, it was a reward for his victory last night. The replay in his mind brought an iota of joy to him, but not enough to purchase a smile. He moved blankets upon blankets until he was free from his comfortable prison, and threw his legs off the bed to the ground. An old buddy had once again let him crash at one of his residences. He would have to thank Derek somehow, probably by sending him something to distract the kids with. A sigh escaped him as he made the effort to get up. Normal morning efforts followed, except for a longer moment taken staring in the mirror. It wasn’t a vain act, no, he did so to observe the many welts and bruises he gained fighting Pina Coladas, the spry, fiery duo. He tapped against one of his cheeks and hissed at the small jolt of pain that responded.
He was yawning as he walked out of his room, strolling into the kitchen. The cool air of the space tickled against his bare chest, and more so at the welts there. “God, those kids were rough,” he thought to himself as he winded his arm around in an effort to loosen his shoulder. Opening the fridge gave him options on what to make, and then he recalled that something else.
Devin wasn’t alone. He had a ball of joy, life, and snark somewhere in the area, and her name was Lyza.
Lyza Reyes.
At least he normally wore pants to bed. Anything else she should be used to.
Between traveling and competing in SCW’s Tag Team Tournament, the morning after their win at the finals felt like the last night of a multi-destination vacation. Lyza is satisfied with the outcome and had her affirmation that she was still competent in the ring. The training boot camps with Devin proved to be effective, even though she wouldn’t be the first to bring them up so soon.
While drinking water, she spotted Devin entering the kitchen through the glass cup, placing it gently on the table before addressing him.
“Greetings and salutations. Welcome to the year 2021, the year of the Ox according to Chinese Horoscope. You’ve slept through the remainder of 2020 and the world is still...the world. The upside is that this is projected to be a year of recovery financially and career-wise,” Lyza said, knowing how outlandish her statement sounded before the man had his morning cup of coffee.
Devin affirmed the outlandish statement by giving Lyza a tired look. “How are you this chipper this early? Do you just inject caffeine directly into your veins?”
He struggled to get the coffee grounds into the maker, which would make some of his friend's cackle. He was the picture of a sharp-dressed man with many different skills. He could tell anyone about how to make coffee the best way, but here he was, embarrassing himself. With a low growl, he finally completed the task and rested his body against the countertop.
“Or have we found some new drug for it this year?” he added, humoring Lyza’s peculiar sense of humor.
Lyza refrained from offering any assistance with preparing the coffee, knowing he would not accept. “No caffeine as of yet. I start off my mornings with water to get the metabolism going. Clean start. This chipper vibe you’re getting from me is the result of sleeping like a baby after a major victory!”
She raised her glass at him in a congratulatory manner.
“If I could suggest or create any drug at this time, I would go with something derived from lithium, because WOW,” she said in reference to the current events.
In her case, she’d opt for something that could undo anything that was related to Stolzen, from the experiments to the psychological warfare. Without any waivers being signed, she could have a field day in court with the pharmaceutical company. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be as simple as a thirty-minute episode of Judge Judy where everything would come out in Lyza’s favor after some exchanges and quips from the iconic judge herself.
“So what happens now? Summer recess? I have heard lovely things about New Zealand.”
“If that’s where you want to go, I’m cool with it,” Devin pondered for a moment. “I don’t remember going there much. But it’s better than this hellscape right now.”
“It’s picturesque, decent government and Peter Jackson’s playground for filming epic movies!” Lyza said, enthusiastically.
Humoring her conversation for a moment, Devin couldn’t help but return back to the matter at hand. It was only a matter of time before Stolzen and whoever else they had would come back for Lyza. And really, Devin had no answers to why. His eyebrows tensed and he went to retrieve a shirt and pants. When he returned, he sat down close to Lyza, his cold eyes trained on her.
“Lyza, is there anything you need to tell me about this situation? Because it seems that our lives are more intertwined than I had originally thought,” he said, in reference to their meeting, thanks to a mutual friend. “And we both know the kind of danger that we’re in.”
The dreaded question was thrown at her when it needed to be as she had no excuses or ways to defer from it. She leaned back against her chair, forming a serious expression.
“First thing you need to know is that I can only speak on behalf of my experience in dealing with them as their guinea pig. When I first had any recollection of going to the lab, it was like going to the doctor’s, but definitely wasn’t your Mickey Mouse covered walls and coloring books environment,” she recalled, taking another sip from her water.
She then continued her recollection, “They had my parents fooled for a while, basically taking advantage of the fact that my mother had a high-risk pregnancy with me. Ever since she accepted their help, I became collateral for future experiments. Medical treatments, umm physical things like boot camp drills, that was the front they’d put up when the parents were around.”
With the language barrier between Lyza’s parents and the Stolzen employees, they were left under the impression that they were sending their daughter to a government-funded specialist in the pediatrics division. From the constant threats and stalking, she could never be truthful to her parents as their lives were in jeopardy. She moved the glass a few inches away from her to create more space.
“It was the perfect cover-up as no signs of abuse were visible, and we were free to go home when they were finished. I only knew as much as I discovered on my own, which were the lasting effects of what was injected in me. Unfortunately, Klein and his people also know, which is why I’m still a commodity to them,” she sighed, leaning her head against the wall beside her.
Devin’s knowledge of the experimentations wasn’t vast. Being taken down to the laboratory, he witnessed glimpses out of the corner of his eyes. In the time that he spent as a dog of their company, he may have seen Lyza. Regret swamped his heart for a moment, but he sent it away, knowing that the situation was impossible.
“With that said, you don’t know how many times I’ve practiced this type of conversation in my head. The funny thing is, it never gets any less strange the more I reenact it.” She sits up, feeling a slight weight has been taken from her. This was the most she had opened up to anyone with respect to her association with Stolzen and their employees.
“...Is it time to kill me yet?”
The words hit Devin like a truck. He felt his face tell Lyza the story, and he quickly went to fix it. He let out a sigh.
“Kill you?”
Such an odd question to ask casually out in the open. Many people have asked him if it was time for them to die—-murdered. He never had an answer, even when he was the one providing the outcome.
“No, I don’t think so,” he added.
His response provided further reassurance. This was an indication that they could further pursue wrestling tenures as a duo.
“Groovy. I don’t want to retaliate against my own tag team partner. I’ve seen it played out on screen and it makes me sad when someone wants to part ways with deceit,” she shakes her head disapprovingly. “Plus, I have ideas for merch, so your presence is definitely appreciated!”
“Shouldn’t we...shouldn’t we, uh, get back to wrestling before that? Get a foothold?” Devin asked, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.
X
Introductions to the two winners of the World’s Best tournament were not needed at the moment. Instead, there were more pressing matters, such as the whiteboard etched with random plans and grids that led to no valid conclusion. Or rather, they were things that only the two people in the frame could understand. Sitting in a seat with his arms crossed was Devin Brando, looking the part of Clark Kent. His ochre hair had been slicked back and his thick-rimmed glasses complimented the stern expression on his face. His tie was loosened a bit, but he still appeared as grim as ever.
“Lyza and I have spent some time studying our opponents for our return back to SCW. It’s important to do so because we have a reputation to uphold. Breaching past the boundary of being a guest into the realm of a mainstay roster member means that we have to put our right foot forward,” Devin pointed at the whiteboard. “And this is our first step. This is gibberish to all of you because Lyza and I have constructed a system of communication.”
“Which if by the way that our opponents speak, I’m not sure if they can talk to themselves, let alone one another.”
Devin stood up, pressing the tip of his pen against the whiteboard.
“The fear of hatred and what it does to people is the highlight of their past conversations.”
The camera moved over to Lyza, who was seated on top of a desk. She wore a mix of Clark Kent’s attire and Lois Lane’s, leaning somewhere in the middle. She fanned herself with a bundle of papers. “It’s a shame that they’re both too much inside of their heads.”
“Like they’re not even here,” Devin added.
“Kelsai’s whole diatribe about how she hates losing is a roundabout way to make it to the simple conclusion--she’s afraid of what she’ll become when she loses herself,” he continued. “And that’s sickening to me.”
Lyza shot her partner a look, hearing his cynical, disparaging nature seeping out.
“Don’t look at me like that. You rolled your eyes at Gold’s search for sympathy about his daughter.”
As a retort, Lyza sighed and didn’t press the issue. “Gold’s scattered,” she pointed to the grid that has no end. Gold’s name was in the center and none of the lines put together.
“But I think you’re right, Dev,” she said, returning attention to the man standing. “I think they both can use this loss as a way to self-reflect. They cannot come into this match, worried about images. Either you’re going to be a horrible person or you’re not.”
Devin nodded. “And if you’re debating what side of the coin you’re going to lean towards, then you’re making yourself weak. I can’t fathom losing to anyone who isn’t sure of themselves and isn’t honest with themselves. Gold says that he didn’t return for the drama, but he came back for Kelsai to help save him? But he’s a step away from returning back to the same kind of person that he used to be.”
“And Kelsai?” Lyza tilted her head.
The camera crawled behind Devin, where he stood in front of a picture of the young woman.
“I guess we’re her litmus test. She loses to us, and we may push her further towards the mirror. She can answer Bree’s question a bit clearer this time around. And maybe she’ll be better for it.”
“Is that from experience?” Lyza chuckled.
Devin let a smile across his features. “Yes, and I think I felt better when I discovered that I was a piece of shit.”
“You think Kelsai’s the same way?”
“The way she spoke in circles, trying to avoid blame? Oh, yes, I think that’s the case. It’s not a bad thing either. It’s not being one that’s the issue. It’s what you do to try to prevent or intensify the persona that’s the question.”
“And where do we fall in line with this moral conundrum?” Lyza said, hopping off the table to stand next to her tag team partner.
Devin narrowed his eyes.
“We don’t fall anywhere, Lyza. We’re competitors. Whatever result that comes, we aren’t involved with their personal struggles. We go out there, try to win, and if we don’t?”
Lyza chimed in with a giggle. “We pick ourselves up and try again?”
“Yes, because we’re honest with ourselves, and we’re not fighting our internal monologues.”
“Ouch, that’s a little harsh,” she jabbed him in the ribs, to which Devin sent her a glare.
“I can’t be anything but. I don’t like playing therapist.”
Devin turned on his heel and began to walk out of the room. Lyza stayed back, staring at him for a moment with an amused expression. As the door closed, as evident by the sound, she turned back to the whiteboard. She reached over and took Devin’s coffee, stirring it and trying it. She cringed and threw it away with a disgusted gag following.
“Why did it have to be black?” she mumbled. “Bitter old man.”
She swigged some water from her bottle and returned to focusing on the graph they both made.
“It’s time for these two to get a wake-up call, huh?”
CUT.