Dissociation

A/N: I'm back. Will make an effort to update regularly. 

The triple threat match continued out in the ring. The local hero, Wiley Morton dominated due to his size and experience, but Vités and The Viking held their own. The crowd seemed to be really taken with the young speedster. The House Show team were impressed. The coaches were not.

“I’m gahnna kell ‘em,” Daniel said, looking at the monitors before turning his attention to Simon, “Boeht, first I’m gahnna kell ‘im,”

Back in the gorilla position, Simon sat in a corner, away from everyone. His expression still had yet to change. He vacantly stared at the wall as Daniel approached him menacingly. Tonye stood between them,

“Daniel, no,”

“De ‘ell do you mean ‘no’?” Asked the Irishmen, “After de stoehnt ‘e joehst poehlled? After ‘e damn near kelled de entire show? After a year o’ dis bull____, you want me joehst to let ‘im sit dere wet’out a care in de world?”

“It won’t. Solve. Anything,” Tonye said, doing his best to keep the big man at bay. It was only because of mutual respect that Daniel didn’t throw the old luchador aside.

“The house show guys think it was our idea,” Alexa chimed in, “We cause a scene and it’ll make everything worse,” She shot a glare, “He’s not worth it,”

Simon continued to stare into space vacantly. He did this sort of thing often. All of them were used to it and paid it no mind, but Daniel wasn’t ready to drop the matter. He pushed past his colleagues and continued his march towards Simon, who didn’t register. His movements were more nonchalant, perfectly hiding his seething aura. Tonye and Alexa decided to stay back and continue watching the triple-threat match right as The Viking hit Morton with a spinebuster that shocked the crowd, only to be hit by a crossbody from Vités.

“Alright, oehtt wit’ it,” Daniel quietly demanded, “What de ‘ell is your prahblem?”

Simon didn’t respond.

“Are you lestenin’ to me?”

He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even there. He was back in the ring.

10 minutes ago

Simon was studying Morton while keeping a perfect poker face.

“Hmm…”

(Another Hand Egg-type. Means he’s strong, but possibly fast. No, definitely fast. Looks experienced. Maybe, this might actually be worth my time. The green beans might learn someth…)

His train of thought stopped when his eyes locked on the section of the crowd behind the local hero. No, not the crowd. A person in the crowd. A Southeast Asian woman dressed in black. Tall and lean with an ample bosom. Long grey hair that didn’t seem to end and crimson red eyes that were looking straight at him. She sat rigid in her chair and matched his blank expression. He froze in place, completely. His eyes stayed locked on hers, his muscles became solid as oak and his feet were rooted to the spot. Even his lungs didn’t dare breathe. Only his heart and blood moved, faster and faster, but it wasn’t like when Suzanna pushed him. No, that was… different. This was more simple. It was fear. Something most people thought impossible for him. Something he often claimed didn’t exist, but at this moment it was re-

Morton came crashing into him like a freight train, which did nothing more than remind him that he was in the middle of a match. Not anymore. This match was ending, now. He took several steps forward, keeping his face blank which made Morton back away in fear.

(So many ways I could beat you. Consider yourself lucky.)

He then fell on his face and lay perfectly still. He heard the crowd go silent.

(Come on. Hurry up and get it over with.)

Morton went for the pin and the ref counted to three. He heard a loud “WHAT?!” from the arena's East side. It sounded familiar, but whatever. He got to his feet and dusted himself off.

(Time to go.)

Before he could leave, Morton grabbed his arm and spun him around,

“What the hell was that, huh?”

Simon didn’t bother to look at him, he tilted his head to see if she was still watching. She was, her head was lowered and her now narrowed eyes maintained contact with his. She was disappointed.

(Good.)

Morton screamed something in his face and shoved him. Simon used the rope as leverage to flip out of the ring. He landed on his feet and turned on his heel. All the while he could feel her eyes on him.

Morton called him back to the ring.

(Take your w and leave me alone.)

Simon briefly considered shutting him up, but he saw that the woman had left her seat and kept walking back up the ramp.

Daniel finally had enough of Simon’s silence,

“You’re either gahnna tell me, or I’m gahnna beat it oehtt of you,”

Simon looked at the old coach for the first time.

“Dat gaht your attention, dedn’t it?” Daniel remarked with a smirk that quickly disappeared, “Now, are you gahnna be a man and own oehp to your crap, or am I gahnna ‘ave to put over my knee like de punk brat you are?”

Simon slowly stood up. Tonye immediately got between them. He first addressed Daniel, “This isn’t happening. Not now.” then Simon, “You are done here. Leave. Now,”

There was a tense silence in the room. Simon’s glare shifted to the old luchador, then back to Daniel, then to Alexa who was standing by the monitors and glaring back. These three had always been so God damn annoying. Always flexing their flimsy authority. They knew what he could do to them if he chose, but they also knew that he had no desire to face Gamal’s wrath if he laid a hand on any of them.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the match. Morton had won by pinning both rookies at the same time, to the delight of the crowd.

“Here is your winner, Wiley Morton!” Came the Lodestar’s announcement.

“Time to go,” Tonye declared with a hand on Daniel’s chest,

“Saved by de bell,” Daniel commented, before turning away.

“Yes, you were,” Simon growled, somehow making his voice sound even deeper.

“Will you just get out of here already?!” Alexa snapped, pointing at the hallway.

“Gladly,” And so he left while Morton held Vités’ and The Viking's hands up in celebration of the fight they gave him. The crowd gave all three a round of applause. Simon could hear it even in the hallway.

(I hate house shows.)