Post by mystifyingoracle on Mar 10, 2021 1:30:23 GMT -5
Welp, back to the drawing board.
Silvio sat back in the locker room, back propped up against a locker, staring ceiling-ward.
His body was still thrumming with the after-effects of Big Boss Spookitude’s feasting, but he felt hollow beneath it.
Get off your high horse and walk among us peasants
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, and waited.
It was a while. But as promised, there was a knock on the door. Behind it a heavily bandaged man, also coming down off a far more mundane adrenaline high.
“Leon, open up. ‘Less you want me to go away, which would also make fucking sense considering.”
Getting up a bit gingerly, Silvio made his way to the door and opened it for the Detroit native.
“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”
Nodding, Mitch did so. His gait staggered a bit, some of his bandages spotted, his eye patch marked with sweat. The wildfire in his uncovered eye was dimmed considerably. Rolling his shoulders and wincing, he found a bare spot on the bench and sat down.
“I’d offer you a whiskey but I didn’t bring any, and if I did I probably would have drank it all by now.”
Fingers slipping into his pocket, he removed a lighter and a pack of Lucky Strikes- unbent and unmarred. He probably got them from his own locker room before coming here. Tilting the pack towards the former champ, he sighed.
“Smoke?”
Silvio shook his head. “No, thanks.” He had a seat nearby Mitch, leaning over and resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs. “Good match.”
He didn’t look at Heart, his gaze distant, that empty feeling spreading as the buzz began to fade. He felt a longing ache growing in his mind as it did - the colors beginning to fade back into their usual hues, sound shifting back into their normal reverberations. He didn’t remember it pulling back like this so quickly before, and he wouldn’t have minded feeling elevated at least a little longer.
“Not good enough, apparently.”
He lit up himself, exhaling a plume of smoke as away from Silvio’s direction as possible.
“I know when I’m licked. You, on the other hand… that was great as advertised. Knew it was going to be close. You could probably try again if you wanted. Champs get rematch clauses and shit.”
He shook his head.
“I would have needed three defenses before challenging for a rematch clause,” he said. “If Cat wants to challenge me again for the title, I’m obviously not going to turn it down, though.”
“She probably would if you asked.”
Mitch shrugged.
“She’s the kind of person who’d be glad to, I think. As for me… I dunno. I’m getting a little tired of slamming my face repeatedly into the same brick wall with the same results. That’s the definition of insanity, ain’t it?”
“Regroup, reassess, try again later. Sometimes...you gotta figure out another angle to come at things.”
He gazed at the lockers in front of him, still trying to ignore the yawning feeling that stretched across his soul. Why did it feel like this? As tired as he was, he kept thinking of being back between the ropes. By all rights, he should have been dying to get back home and collapse into bed.
“Maybe. Being a good guy didn’t work. Being a bad guy didn’t work. Maybe I’m just never meant to beat that fucking guy. Maybe I was right and nobody ever will.”
He gave another shrug, smoking the Lucky down to the filter and grinding it out on his pant leg.
“I think I’m gonna go home for a while and try to get my shit together.”
Silvio blinked and looked at Mitch putting the cigarette out, eyebrows rising at the acrid scent that coiled up from it.
“I just don’t want to be taking anyone’s place who deserves a shot. I don’t...it’s not just…”
I warned you what being high-and-mighty would get you
He felt that tightness in his chest again, that stricture in his breathing.
God, why did the high have to go away so quickly?
“...I don’t...want to be selfish.”
“Be selfish for once in your life. For fuck’s sake, you look like someone ran over your puppy. You want to be champion again, then go be champion again. Think of your damn self for a change.”
He gave a light snicker.
“Maybe don’t follow my example and go overboard with it, though.”
Silvio blinked in surprise, looking up at Mitch and feeling his heart suddenly give a jagged, freezing jerk.
Blue blue blue blue blue so like his
He shook his head, feeling dizzy for a moment.
He could hear that voice again. Not one he’d heard in years outside of his own head, but.
You left. You left and you told me not to call you again. You left why so why are you still here you chemical fiend?
What is your voice doing in my friend’s throat? Get out of his eyes, you fuck.
“That’s not...making everything about me?”
“Look, I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t have, it was a douchefuck thing to say. No, if you want this, you should go get it, that’s all I mean.”
His head tilted to the side, an eyebrow raising.
“You okay?”
“It’s just…”
Silvio ran a hand through his hair.
“...When I was a kid, I wanted...so badly to go to college. I grew up in poverty; poor mixed trailer trash.”
He snorted, shaking his head.
“...Not that I’ve ever really shaken that. Or would want to deny it. But...when you come from a background like that and you want something else...it can make people who are in your same situation angry. You hear a lot of…’Oh, you think you’re too good for this life?’ ‘Oh, you think you deserve better than me?’ People accuse you of having ulterior motives. Of somehow trying to scheme your way into something. It...you hear it enough at a young age and...it never really goes away. It makes you wonder if you actually deserve to reach for something, and it makes you doubt yourself every moment that you have it.”
He closed his eyes.
“So, I guess I’m just wondering how much of what I’m doing here is just me deluding myself into believing I’m worth any of this.”
“Stop that.”
Mitch leaned forward. He reached up and removed his eye patch- a nasty scar arced from below his eyebrow into his eyelid, and the eye itself blinked rapidly as it got used to the light. Even the damaged eye, however, held a blazing intensity.
“For fuck’s sake, you were the top of the heap here. You did something most people could never imagine doing. And you’ll do it again if you want. A lot. You’re not the one who’s not good enough to be here. You can go as far as you want to.”
Silvio’s eyes widened at the sight of the scar, his mouth opening briefly before closing again.
“Jesus, Mitch…”
He blinked rapidly and shook his head again.
“Thank you. I’m…”
His mouth tightened.
He did want it.
Not just the gold, either.
Just thinking about it made the hollow start to fill again, even if the craving still made his veins burn. There was still a part of him that was afraid of taking up too much space. But God, there was that hunger. A monster’s appetite.
He exhaled at length, feeling propriety beginning to fray at the edges. His fingers itched. His pride unfurled in his heart like a shadow in bloom.
Let it out.
“...Okay.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“You know, I never felt like I was supposed to amount to much. You dream of college and you fucking should, but I… I dropped out of high school. Couldn’t take every day of people talking shit, mocking me, always more than happy to get their licks in on the bastard son of a junkie. I blew any chance I had at making it to the NHL by being more concerned with beating the shit out of people than scoring goals. I keep reaching out for something better and it keeps slipping through my fingers. But you… you’ve done it. You deserve better and can actually get it if you want. You’re smart. Capable and shit.”
“You’re not far off from where I’m at, you know.”
He raised a brow.
“At least not here. We’ve both only ever lost to one person.”
And what are you going to do about that, little fortune teller?
“I don’t think LRK’s out of your reach. And that’s me speaking as his tag partner. You are both inevitable.”
He looked up at Mitch.
I wonder what a dance with him would be like.
The thought curled up around his spine, crackling at the base of his skull.
Cat was fire.
LRK had been a riotous kaleidoscope vision.
What kind of soul was Mitch Heart?
The words were on his lips before he could stop them.
“And don’t think I don’t want a piece of you, blood-letter.”
“Heh. Maybe someday. Not now. I’ve gotten my ass kicked by immovable objects and unstoppable forces enough for the time being. Like I said, I know when I’m licked.”
He smirked slightly, slipping his patch back on. He was only supposed to wear it a few more days, but for once he was sticking to the side of caution. The last thing he needed was to go blind.
Standing up, he stretched.
“I think I’m going to go get completely shitfaced before I go home in the morning. Wanna come with?”
Silvio considered, getting to his feet again with a little wince.
“You know...I’ve heard worse ideas. You wanna hit the town, or go back to my place and raid the liquor cabinet?”
“...actually we better go out. I don’t wanna be held responsible for puking all over your worldly possessions.”
Silvio gave a little laugh.
“Alright, let’s do this. First round’s on me.”
Silvio sat back in the locker room, back propped up against a locker, staring ceiling-ward.
His body was still thrumming with the after-effects of Big Boss Spookitude’s feasting, but he felt hollow beneath it.
Get off your high horse and walk among us peasants
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, and waited.
It was a while. But as promised, there was a knock on the door. Behind it a heavily bandaged man, also coming down off a far more mundane adrenaline high.
“Leon, open up. ‘Less you want me to go away, which would also make fucking sense considering.”
Getting up a bit gingerly, Silvio made his way to the door and opened it for the Detroit native.
“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”
Nodding, Mitch did so. His gait staggered a bit, some of his bandages spotted, his eye patch marked with sweat. The wildfire in his uncovered eye was dimmed considerably. Rolling his shoulders and wincing, he found a bare spot on the bench and sat down.
“I’d offer you a whiskey but I didn’t bring any, and if I did I probably would have drank it all by now.”
Fingers slipping into his pocket, he removed a lighter and a pack of Lucky Strikes- unbent and unmarred. He probably got them from his own locker room before coming here. Tilting the pack towards the former champ, he sighed.
“Smoke?”
Silvio shook his head. “No, thanks.” He had a seat nearby Mitch, leaning over and resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs. “Good match.”
He didn’t look at Heart, his gaze distant, that empty feeling spreading as the buzz began to fade. He felt a longing ache growing in his mind as it did - the colors beginning to fade back into their usual hues, sound shifting back into their normal reverberations. He didn’t remember it pulling back like this so quickly before, and he wouldn’t have minded feeling elevated at least a little longer.
“Not good enough, apparently.”
He lit up himself, exhaling a plume of smoke as away from Silvio’s direction as possible.
“I know when I’m licked. You, on the other hand… that was great as advertised. Knew it was going to be close. You could probably try again if you wanted. Champs get rematch clauses and shit.”
He shook his head.
“I would have needed three defenses before challenging for a rematch clause,” he said. “If Cat wants to challenge me again for the title, I’m obviously not going to turn it down, though.”
“She probably would if you asked.”
Mitch shrugged.
“She’s the kind of person who’d be glad to, I think. As for me… I dunno. I’m getting a little tired of slamming my face repeatedly into the same brick wall with the same results. That’s the definition of insanity, ain’t it?”
“Regroup, reassess, try again later. Sometimes...you gotta figure out another angle to come at things.”
He gazed at the lockers in front of him, still trying to ignore the yawning feeling that stretched across his soul. Why did it feel like this? As tired as he was, he kept thinking of being back between the ropes. By all rights, he should have been dying to get back home and collapse into bed.
“Maybe. Being a good guy didn’t work. Being a bad guy didn’t work. Maybe I’m just never meant to beat that fucking guy. Maybe I was right and nobody ever will.”
He gave another shrug, smoking the Lucky down to the filter and grinding it out on his pant leg.
“I think I’m gonna go home for a while and try to get my shit together.”
Silvio blinked and looked at Mitch putting the cigarette out, eyebrows rising at the acrid scent that coiled up from it.
“I just don’t want to be taking anyone’s place who deserves a shot. I don’t...it’s not just…”
I warned you what being high-and-mighty would get you
He felt that tightness in his chest again, that stricture in his breathing.
God, why did the high have to go away so quickly?
“...I don’t...want to be selfish.”
“Be selfish for once in your life. For fuck’s sake, you look like someone ran over your puppy. You want to be champion again, then go be champion again. Think of your damn self for a change.”
He gave a light snicker.
“Maybe don’t follow my example and go overboard with it, though.”
Silvio blinked in surprise, looking up at Mitch and feeling his heart suddenly give a jagged, freezing jerk.
Blue blue blue blue blue so like his
He shook his head, feeling dizzy for a moment.
He could hear that voice again. Not one he’d heard in years outside of his own head, but.
You left. You left and you told me not to call you again. You left why so why are you still here you chemical fiend?
What is your voice doing in my friend’s throat? Get out of his eyes, you fuck.
“That’s not...making everything about me?”
“Look, I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t have, it was a douchefuck thing to say. No, if you want this, you should go get it, that’s all I mean.”
His head tilted to the side, an eyebrow raising.
“You okay?”
“It’s just…”
Silvio ran a hand through his hair.
“...When I was a kid, I wanted...so badly to go to college. I grew up in poverty; poor mixed trailer trash.”
He snorted, shaking his head.
“...Not that I’ve ever really shaken that. Or would want to deny it. But...when you come from a background like that and you want something else...it can make people who are in your same situation angry. You hear a lot of…’Oh, you think you’re too good for this life?’ ‘Oh, you think you deserve better than me?’ People accuse you of having ulterior motives. Of somehow trying to scheme your way into something. It...you hear it enough at a young age and...it never really goes away. It makes you wonder if you actually deserve to reach for something, and it makes you doubt yourself every moment that you have it.”
He closed his eyes.
“So, I guess I’m just wondering how much of what I’m doing here is just me deluding myself into believing I’m worth any of this.”
“Stop that.”
Mitch leaned forward. He reached up and removed his eye patch- a nasty scar arced from below his eyebrow into his eyelid, and the eye itself blinked rapidly as it got used to the light. Even the damaged eye, however, held a blazing intensity.
“For fuck’s sake, you were the top of the heap here. You did something most people could never imagine doing. And you’ll do it again if you want. A lot. You’re not the one who’s not good enough to be here. You can go as far as you want to.”
Silvio’s eyes widened at the sight of the scar, his mouth opening briefly before closing again.
“Jesus, Mitch…”
He blinked rapidly and shook his head again.
“Thank you. I’m…”
His mouth tightened.
He did want it.
Not just the gold, either.
Just thinking about it made the hollow start to fill again, even if the craving still made his veins burn. There was still a part of him that was afraid of taking up too much space. But God, there was that hunger. A monster’s appetite.
He exhaled at length, feeling propriety beginning to fray at the edges. His fingers itched. His pride unfurled in his heart like a shadow in bloom.
Let it out.
“...Okay.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“You know, I never felt like I was supposed to amount to much. You dream of college and you fucking should, but I… I dropped out of high school. Couldn’t take every day of people talking shit, mocking me, always more than happy to get their licks in on the bastard son of a junkie. I blew any chance I had at making it to the NHL by being more concerned with beating the shit out of people than scoring goals. I keep reaching out for something better and it keeps slipping through my fingers. But you… you’ve done it. You deserve better and can actually get it if you want. You’re smart. Capable and shit.”
“You’re not far off from where I’m at, you know.”
He raised a brow.
“At least not here. We’ve both only ever lost to one person.”
And what are you going to do about that, little fortune teller?
“I don’t think LRK’s out of your reach. And that’s me speaking as his tag partner. You are both inevitable.”
He looked up at Mitch.
I wonder what a dance with him would be like.
The thought curled up around his spine, crackling at the base of his skull.
Cat was fire.
LRK had been a riotous kaleidoscope vision.
What kind of soul was Mitch Heart?
The words were on his lips before he could stop them.
“And don’t think I don’t want a piece of you, blood-letter.”
“Heh. Maybe someday. Not now. I’ve gotten my ass kicked by immovable objects and unstoppable forces enough for the time being. Like I said, I know when I’m licked.”
He smirked slightly, slipping his patch back on. He was only supposed to wear it a few more days, but for once he was sticking to the side of caution. The last thing he needed was to go blind.
Standing up, he stretched.
“I think I’m going to go get completely shitfaced before I go home in the morning. Wanna come with?”
Silvio considered, getting to his feet again with a little wince.
“You know...I’ve heard worse ideas. You wanna hit the town, or go back to my place and raid the liquor cabinet?”
“...actually we better go out. I don’t wanna be held responsible for puking all over your worldly possessions.”
Silvio gave a little laugh.
“Alright, let’s do this. First round’s on me.”