"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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The Burned Handler
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I used to be a handler like you, then I turned into a horse.
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Another party, another room full of Kingmanites who wanted to hear about how he pinned 195 pounds of pissed off white kid to do what hardly any Kingman wrestler - and none outside good old Cochise High - had ever done before. What was there to tell that hadn't been told, hadn't been on the video that hit youtube or the footage the myriad news cameras caught? The Miner and the Navajo Times and other papers he hadn't bothered to memorise had already scribbled down every interesting thing he could think to say about the biggest wrestling match of his life. What did these kids want? Just to be near a champion?

Hm. That word. "Champion" had lightened his heart and made him feel like he could fly until it was all he goddamn heard from anybody but his parents. And here he was, the masses he usually tried to ignore penning him at this little table he'd sat down by, the teammate who'd dragged him here nowhere to be seen. White faces, a couple brown, gawking at him and barking questions or suggestions or requests or shoving drinks at him when he was pretty sure if he had to say "no, I don't drink, no not even Coke" one more time he would lateral drop somebody through the floor. The air conditioner was on and yet the hum of voices and press of bodies negated it, turned this living room into the middle of the Mojave at high noon. Someone noticed the tightening of his lip, the furrow of his brow, even as some girl's hand brushed down his arm, and there was a small ripple when he came to his feet and they gave him space.

Maybe it being common knowledge he could toss around anybody in this room with ease wasn't so bad. There were a couple concerned queries, maybe genuine, but he just shook his head and tried a smile.

"Guys, I'm fine. I appreciate all this, really, but I need a little air. Make way, yeah?"

They did, a little escape corridor opening up to his right. He mustered the dignity to walk through it instead of run, heading off to the furthest corner from those gawkers and not letting himself release his breath until his back was to the wall.

Parties were fun, usually, but tonight seemed made to test his patience.
MurderWeasel getting impatient
 
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.


Quote:
 
18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!


Quote:
 
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene


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Ceremony · Memories from the Past