Post by Mr. C on Nov 8, 2008 22:12:09 GMT -5
It was, simply put, a quest for resistance.
The spray shot down on his face, beads of wet fire. He looked up at the nozzle of the shower head through closed eyes, letting the jet stream bombard a heavily bearded and gruff face. Beads collected at his forehead, matted his hair and long whiskers. They rolled down to the hair, winding their paths down over his rough features. Rough and aged features. A face that was smothered in age lines, folds and creases above his brow, under and next to his eyes, beside his nose. And along with all of these wrinkles, were various nicks and scars. A granite face, aged and weathered by the elements. The rain continued to pound on the old looking warrior, he paid it no mind because by now weathering was a part of his life.
Steam wound up around him inside the small shower stall. It billowed and puffed, it snaked and contorted, twisting around his body, in and out from under his arms, between and around his legs. It came from his body, lazily zig-zagging up off of his reddened flesh. The wet fire of this man's shower was by the looks of it all, cooking him alive. He paid it no mind, it was simply more weathering of his life.
Finally, he reached down with a gruff hand, his joints creaking and popping as he did and shut off the flow, but the steam stayed, clothing him with its thick veil. Tearing back the curtain, he stepped out and began to towel off. The entire time he went through those mindless, mechanic actions, his mind was wandering. He knew he was a character, he knew that when it was all said and done, he was not the Viking warrior he portrayed. He knew he wasn't the man he said he was. But at times, he hid it all so well.
You see, you can not change the outside, that's for sure. This man was old, he was tired, he was burnt out, and the gruffness of his beard and long ratty hair did not help the matter. While still wielding taught muscle beneath his skin, and the heart of a warrior inside of him further still, on the outside he was an old man, nearing the end of his career. On the outside, he was Brett Cross. But he knows what he is on the inside. He knows who he is.
Now, he thought as he pressed and massaged the towel in to his long blond hair, perhaps that loss was due to his age. For, he was indeed dealing with "The Young One". His joints creak, his muscles ache, but that's only on the inside. On the outside, he was a powerhouse, a warrior, a hammer. Chipped and worn for sure, but that was a part of his gimmick, like any hammer, it made no difference the number of nicks on its face, it still got the job done. It still crushed the opposition. But, perhaps these cracks aren't just on the outside, he thought.
Because, Brett brought the towel down, running it over his stubbled chest, now he's second guessing himself. Brett didn't know what to think of his first victory and no less to a man like Joe Dark. His fatigue, his age, they all must be more than just skin-deep. They've affected his mind, too. With a frown, Brett brought the towel over his shoulder, and down his arm. Picking up every last bead of wet fire he could find.
But, with the frown, came a realization. If he could act one way on the outside, and be something else on the inside. Something completely different on the inside, why couldn't he divide his injuries and years the same way? Brett Cross, who plays a character who legitimately believes he's from the past, could easily divide things up that way. Yes, it's brilliant! This Monday, he will be a different man on the outside. Inside, sure, he may be getting older, slower, weaker, more prone to mistakes. But outside? He's "The Norse Hammer" Brett Cross. And no man, beast or legend could best him.
With that same revelation twirling in his mind, Brett Cross' head snapped back, as if he was just called to attention by his commander. Dropping the towel at his side, his lips curled up in to a smirk, a familiar one at that, beneath the bushes of whiskers. With a booming laugh, he pointed out with a haired and rough hand. As if he was speaking directly to him, he spoke out in his loud and booming voice.
"Ach! Indeed. Vile villain, your trickery hast brought you to best me once but The Norse Hammer will nary be tricked twice. All ya are is a veil of steam. A joke. At first, t'is cute, but in the end, t'is easy to pick apart. You know't and I know't, lad. Ye beat me once with nothin' but mere luck. And now, this Monday? I'm goin' ta make sure ta pound ye harder than ye hast ever been pounded before. Fair is fair, and what goes 'round comes back 'round again, lad. Best of luck to ye, but don't rely on that alone. I'm ready for't this time."
Then, with that, Brett picked up the towel once more and wrapped it about his waist before leaving. Inside and out, Brett Cross was housing two very separate identities. The character, and who he is. Who he truly is. That loss? Perhaps it was a result of his age. Perhaps it was a result of Joe Dark's increasing skill. Or, perhaps, it was the two minds battling. The one inside, the real one, the true self of Brett cross, trying to make itself known. Whatever the case, Brett Cross was the victor for now, and was sure of his victory come this Monday as well.
The spray shot down on his face, beads of wet fire. He looked up at the nozzle of the shower head through closed eyes, letting the jet stream bombard a heavily bearded and gruff face. Beads collected at his forehead, matted his hair and long whiskers. They rolled down to the hair, winding their paths down over his rough features. Rough and aged features. A face that was smothered in age lines, folds and creases above his brow, under and next to his eyes, beside his nose. And along with all of these wrinkles, were various nicks and scars. A granite face, aged and weathered by the elements. The rain continued to pound on the old looking warrior, he paid it no mind because by now weathering was a part of his life.
Steam wound up around him inside the small shower stall. It billowed and puffed, it snaked and contorted, twisting around his body, in and out from under his arms, between and around his legs. It came from his body, lazily zig-zagging up off of his reddened flesh. The wet fire of this man's shower was by the looks of it all, cooking him alive. He paid it no mind, it was simply more weathering of his life.
Finally, he reached down with a gruff hand, his joints creaking and popping as he did and shut off the flow, but the steam stayed, clothing him with its thick veil. Tearing back the curtain, he stepped out and began to towel off. The entire time he went through those mindless, mechanic actions, his mind was wandering. He knew he was a character, he knew that when it was all said and done, he was not the Viking warrior he portrayed. He knew he wasn't the man he said he was. But at times, he hid it all so well.
You see, you can not change the outside, that's for sure. This man was old, he was tired, he was burnt out, and the gruffness of his beard and long ratty hair did not help the matter. While still wielding taught muscle beneath his skin, and the heart of a warrior inside of him further still, on the outside he was an old man, nearing the end of his career. On the outside, he was Brett Cross. But he knows what he is on the inside. He knows who he is.
Now, he thought as he pressed and massaged the towel in to his long blond hair, perhaps that loss was due to his age. For, he was indeed dealing with "The Young One". His joints creak, his muscles ache, but that's only on the inside. On the outside, he was a powerhouse, a warrior, a hammer. Chipped and worn for sure, but that was a part of his gimmick, like any hammer, it made no difference the number of nicks on its face, it still got the job done. It still crushed the opposition. But, perhaps these cracks aren't just on the outside, he thought.
Because, Brett brought the towel down, running it over his stubbled chest, now he's second guessing himself. Brett didn't know what to think of his first victory and no less to a man like Joe Dark. His fatigue, his age, they all must be more than just skin-deep. They've affected his mind, too. With a frown, Brett brought the towel over his shoulder, and down his arm. Picking up every last bead of wet fire he could find.
But, with the frown, came a realization. If he could act one way on the outside, and be something else on the inside. Something completely different on the inside, why couldn't he divide his injuries and years the same way? Brett Cross, who plays a character who legitimately believes he's from the past, could easily divide things up that way. Yes, it's brilliant! This Monday, he will be a different man on the outside. Inside, sure, he may be getting older, slower, weaker, more prone to mistakes. But outside? He's "The Norse Hammer" Brett Cross. And no man, beast or legend could best him.
With that same revelation twirling in his mind, Brett Cross' head snapped back, as if he was just called to attention by his commander. Dropping the towel at his side, his lips curled up in to a smirk, a familiar one at that, beneath the bushes of whiskers. With a booming laugh, he pointed out with a haired and rough hand. As if he was speaking directly to him, he spoke out in his loud and booming voice.
"Ach! Indeed. Vile villain, your trickery hast brought you to best me once but The Norse Hammer will nary be tricked twice. All ya are is a veil of steam. A joke. At first, t'is cute, but in the end, t'is easy to pick apart. You know't and I know't, lad. Ye beat me once with nothin' but mere luck. And now, this Monday? I'm goin' ta make sure ta pound ye harder than ye hast ever been pounded before. Fair is fair, and what goes 'round comes back 'round again, lad. Best of luck to ye, but don't rely on that alone. I'm ready for't this time."
Then, with that, Brett picked up the towel once more and wrapped it about his waist before leaving. Inside and out, Brett Cross was housing two very separate identities. The character, and who he is. Who he truly is. That loss? Perhaps it was a result of his age. Perhaps it was a result of Joe Dark's increasing skill. Or, perhaps, it was the two minds battling. The one inside, the real one, the true self of Brett cross, trying to make itself known. Whatever the case, Brett Cross was the victor for now, and was sure of his victory come this Monday as well.
