Post by York on Aug 1, 2020 19:18:53 GMT -5
Idol looked himself up and down in his full-length mirror, absolutely aghast at the chore boy uniform that he had to borrow for his day with Sif. The navy slacks and black boots were fine on their own, in fact, would have made a fine wrestling attire for a no-nonsense striker type. But when combined with the lame white t-shirt and dorky little blue neckerchief, it practically put Idol to sleep, something he’d never thought would happen while looking at his reflection.
But now wasn’t the time to have a fashion show, now was the time to be serious, and to take things seriously. His days of being a renegade cloud in the sky had come to a close, as it was only three days ago that he had agreed to become a master and mold a large, powerful lump of clay into an unstoppable wrestling golem. As much as Idol wanted to tear off his shirt and let the sweat on his chest glisten in the sunlight, it wasn’t what the marines were expecting of him, and would have therefore been wildly inappropriate. He was there to help Sif in her community service and anger management, not to hotdog and grandstand in front of a bawdy crowd, and he needed to switch off that part of his brain.
As Idol left his apartment to meet up with Sif, he adjusts his issued baseball cap and took one last glance through the door. On a dresser was sat an oval shaped championship belt, a blue globe painted on the center wrapped by the phrase 'Openweight Champion' etched into the brass plate. Wracking his brain, Idol couldn’t even remember the last time he had defended it, it would have had to have been before he got separated from the Storytellers. He stood there, peeking into the half-closed door, just staring at the belt he was going to use to prove his worth as a man and as a wrestler, his look of disappointment slowly morphed into one of resolve.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat” he said to himself as he shut the door and locked it behind him. “And there’s more than one way to prove my wrestling skills to the world.” Rolling up his already short sleeves to reveal more of his arm muscles, Idol stormed down the halls of the single floored apartment complex and out the door on the far end. The bright sunlight, while painful to his eyes, did nothing to deter his powerful stride.
He had agreed, admittedly between bouts of unconsciousness, to train Sif Gunhildr in the art of professional wrestling. This was not a task possible for anyone other than a world class, well trained, properly conditioned athlete. All things Idol wanted to prove synonymous to. “I’m gonna take you to the top, Sif. And you’re gonna take me to the top with you. You just don’t know it yet.”
But now wasn’t the time to have a fashion show, now was the time to be serious, and to take things seriously. His days of being a renegade cloud in the sky had come to a close, as it was only three days ago that he had agreed to become a master and mold a large, powerful lump of clay into an unstoppable wrestling golem. As much as Idol wanted to tear off his shirt and let the sweat on his chest glisten in the sunlight, it wasn’t what the marines were expecting of him, and would have therefore been wildly inappropriate. He was there to help Sif in her community service and anger management, not to hotdog and grandstand in front of a bawdy crowd, and he needed to switch off that part of his brain.
As Idol left his apartment to meet up with Sif, he adjusts his issued baseball cap and took one last glance through the door. On a dresser was sat an oval shaped championship belt, a blue globe painted on the center wrapped by the phrase 'Openweight Champion' etched into the brass plate. Wracking his brain, Idol couldn’t even remember the last time he had defended it, it would have had to have been before he got separated from the Storytellers. He stood there, peeking into the half-closed door, just staring at the belt he was going to use to prove his worth as a man and as a wrestler, his look of disappointment slowly morphed into one of resolve.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat” he said to himself as he shut the door and locked it behind him. “And there’s more than one way to prove my wrestling skills to the world.” Rolling up his already short sleeves to reveal more of his arm muscles, Idol stormed down the halls of the single floored apartment complex and out the door on the far end. The bright sunlight, while painful to his eyes, did nothing to deter his powerful stride.
He had agreed, admittedly between bouts of unconsciousness, to train Sif Gunhildr in the art of professional wrestling. This was not a task possible for anyone other than a world class, well trained, properly conditioned athlete. All things Idol wanted to prove synonymous to. “I’m gonna take you to the top, Sif. And you’re gonna take me to the top with you. You just don’t know it yet.”