Post by "Superstar" Deathrow on Jan 25, 2006 3:29:32 GMT -5
When Tommy Deathrow was little, he had considered the idea of being a dentist. It was something that appealed to him greatly and he had even visited one on work experience when he was a high schooler. Deathrow had much respect for dentistry. It was an art form at its purest. He’d smile, showing off his own set of pearly whites as he stood in the waiting room, his hands behind his back as he observed some rather graphic photographs of rotting and rotted teeth. Much like the teeth of half the roster of the NAPW. Tilting his head to the side, he started to read a small comic strip before a door to the surgery opened. Turning his glance that way, he watched as a tearful child came out, sniffing before returning his attention to the cartoon on the wall, shaking his head and tutting slightly.
He was not here for a check up. Nope. He’d had his last week. You see, he wasn’t content with having them every six months. No, he insisted on a monthly trip to the dentist. He knew every time that there wasn’t going to be anything wrong with his teeth, but why not just be safe? He could afford it, of course. Why shouldn’t he go when he wanted to? No, he wasn’t here for any tools to go anywhere near his mouth. He was here to take part in it. Help out for a while.
He was a pretty intimidating guy. Plus He had enough Experience to do pretty much anything he wanted to so no one could stop him at least inquiring about taking part in a surgery. After all, it had been his dream to be a dentist when he was younger and now he had the chance to take part in what he used to love, if only just for one time. It was only a small part but he had paid well for it. Anything to be that much closer to it all.
He waited outside, his hands slung in his jacket pocket as he smiled in a friendly way at the receptionist who shot what only could be seen as a glower back at him. They never got on, but he didn’t know that. He assumed they were best friends. She didn’t agree. I shall not disclose what it was that had her miffed when ever he came in, but I shall say that it involved Deathrow’s careful toothbrush collection process.
It was only a small room and it suited the independent tooth care establishment. Deathrow was very fond of the clinical feel that the room oozed and that was even more apparent in the practice room itself. He waited patiently in the waiting room as he stood outside, hands loosely in his pockets as he began to stroll about, casting his glance about the room before noticing a little girl reading a book. Deathrow frowned a little bit as he looked at her before turning away and saying very casually but at a volume she was bound to hear:
Deathrow: “-Someone- didn’t brush their teeth properly.”
The comment goes over the little girl’s head as she doesn’t raise it to look over the pages of the colorful book. Deathrow sighed happily to himself as he glanced at a picture of a polar bear. He glances over his shoulder again towards the girl who still didn’t look up from her book.
Deathrow: “Eating too much candy. Not using a circular brushing motion. Tut-tut.”
As if she assumed that he was just reading something aloud, she does not pay him any heed, looking at the pages of the book carefully. Deathrow frowned again a little bit before shrugging and turning away again.
Deathrow: “Your dads been drinking again and is going to beat you when you get home”
The little girl looks up at Deathrow as he keeps staring at the Picture on the wall. She begins to cry and places her hands on her face. Deathrow laughs to himself as if the polar bear picture is what has him smiling and laughing. He had always enjoyed the little comic strips they had at the dentist. So funny. So tooth related. He’d chuckle quietly to himself before turning and strolling towards the other side of the room to look at something else….
Eventually, he would be called into the main room. The little girl looked up still sobbing and Deathrow saw his chance, turning around and murmuring, “Good luck, you’re gonna need it kid!” Deathrow winked at her, It was not a nice thing to say, but Deathrow was in such high spirits that he didn’t really feel the need to be public-friendly. And he was proud of his own teeth and his lack of real need to be there, so why not rub it in a little bit? He deserved it!
His comment, however, drew mixed glances from the nurses. Deathrow, smiling proudly, would turn around again before heading into the room with the ladies. The little girl would blink, looking quite bewildered after his comment before raising the book again. A lady dressed in a manner which suggested that she was not part of the working team there walked past Deathrow as he went in and outstretched her hand (the one that was not rubbing her cheek in order to restore feeling in it), taking the little hand of the girl and leading her out. If only Deathrow had seen that the girl was in for no other reason than to be looked after while her mother was in surgery… Lord only knows the fun he could have had…
Deathrow looked about the room. He always savored the clinical smell. It was magnificent. So professional. So clean. He would be gazing about the room as if he had never been in there before (and also as if it wasn’t a place that didn’t have much to look at) before he is interrupted by a grouchy-looking nurse who hands him a tray. He’d outstretch his hands, blinking as it is practically thrust onto him. Something similar to “Hold this now.” is barked out at him and he would quietly comply, just happy to be in there, on the front line of dentistry. He’d smile politely as he stood there in his whites, watching as someone is treated for what looks to be a filling.
Deathrow: “ Oh I see… What are you doing again I forgot?”
Deathrow would pipe up unhelpfully as he looked over the crooked forms of the nurses as they leaned over to perform the surgery. The grouchy-looking nurse would murmur back to him without bothering to look back.
Nurse (Grouchy): “A damn filling don‘t you know anything.”
Deathrow nodded.
Deathrow: “Ahhh of course one of teeth unnatural wonders…”
There is another pause as he settles again, just holding the tray which any of the three nurses in the room plucked things from. He’d eventually speak up again.
Deathrow: “You using anesthetic?”
An exasperated reply.
Nurse (Grouchy): “Yes just be quiet would you.”
Deathrow would nod again, murmuring quietly in acceptance before settling down again, although his gaze constantly wanders about the small room. Something caught his eye. He’d set the white, metal tray down before turning around and moving a few steps away from the group of people. It was two large cylinders of Nitrous. He’d murmur quietly to himself, rubbing his clean chin before reaching out for the mask that was attached to the cylinders.
“I wonder…” he’d murmur quietly to himself before turning the dials on the bottles. It is the hiss of the exhaling bottles that got the attention of the nurses who all, as if synchronized, turn around at the same time to observe Deathrow just…laying on the floor. He was breathing okay but he was on the floor. And into a dream he slipped.
It was strange because it wasn’t like the normal dreams you have when you go to sleep of your own accord. It was more coherent. It made more sense. Deathrow dreamt of himself standing in the middle of the ring. The arena in which the ring stood was completely empty and, really, it didn’t resemble an arena at all. There were very dark pockets of shadow and nothing to support the belief that people could be seated. No seats and no floors. It took Deathrow a little while to realize that the ring was floating. There was no floor surrounding it and he was fairly sure that there was nothing beneath it either. No sign of any sort of fans anywhere, either. He was alone. Alone with a microphone in his hand. Creedence Clearwater Revival- have you ever seen the rain was playing in the background.
Although, obviously, you have little to no control of yourself in dreams, Deathrow was surprised to find that he could do nothing. Nothing. He was aware that he could do nothing other than watch as the microphone raised itself to his lips and he’d open them, eyes on the microphone in front of his lips. He’d begin to speak. The voice was his own but the words were not ones that he was consciously forming.
Deathrow: “I…Am…Deathrow. I am going to be one half of the next tag team champions of the NAPW.”
Yeah, that sounded about right. Hey, maybe this was a premonition. Perhaps this was just his subconscious. If so, then surely such confidence in his subconscious was a good thing. He would smile if he could and probably did so outside of his dream world even though he found it impossible to do anything of his own accord within it. The microphone remains there in front of his lips as he begins to speak again.
Deathrow: “And after winning the Tag Team Titles with my partner Billy Kryenik, I will go on to win one of the Singles belts. I will prove my greatness and no one will ever doubt me or Jack Hannah again.”
He liked this. He knew he liked it. He could feel everything. It was so lifelike. Like it wasn’t a dream at all but he had been shot with tranquilizers. Something he has had done many a times before. He’d make no effort to wrench himself from his unwilling sleep. It was nice. It was nice to hear such positive words coming from his mouth, not that anything he said wasn’t positive. He’d open his mouth to speak again (not that he was in control of it or anything) before stopping. His head would stiffly turn to the side to observe something in the audience. No. Someone.
It was her! That damn Penguin, That girl! The one with the big t###t that had been following him about everywhere trying to get her hands on him. Deathrow narrowed his eyes slightly to observe her as she stood all of that distance away. She was in what was definitely a cheerleader’s jacket and a miniskirt. She looked up towards the ring which was, Deathrow observed, definitely higher than it seemed moments ago before she gripped to the zip of the jacket she wore.
Upon closer inspection, Deathrow could tell that the expression on her face was not as blank as at first he had thought. He narrowed his eyes all the more as he tried to make it out in the darkness. It was…an attempt to seduce him. Silly penguin, Her expression was sultry and strangely enticing. She’d move about a little bit, her lower half shadowed by the corners of darkness in the dream arena. Deathrow would watch in awe as the hourglass-shaped bird would start to unzip her jacket magically. Deathrow tilted his head to the side. The jacket, as if in slow-motion, was peeled open. But he saw nothing belonging to a woman. Only rose petals. Hundreds, nah, thousands of them streaming out as if from inside her. They would float up towards the ring, so many of them there that his vision was blocked. He saw only red during the time that they swam past in the air and when the mist cleared, he was no longer in the arena…
No. He was at the dentist, looking up through bleary eyes towards the nurses who had expressions that could only be described as scowls on their faces…
* * *
What could the dream have meant? He pondered it as he walked the short distance from the dentist to his apartment. His finger trailed over his bottom lip as he struggled to think of what it could have possibly been implying. What could it have meant? He had to find out! He had to know!
On his way home from the dentist, he always seemed to bump into the same person (he knew this because of the fact that he visited it every month.) and today was no exception. He didn’t mind running into this particularly person because it was always nice to talk to your neighbors, but he couldn’t help but feel the kid had a bit of a one-track mind. But then, if you lived practically next door to a fairly famous wrestler, who’d been to court so many times for odd things that your head would spin. You’d have a bit of a one-track mind too.
Little Brandon, as ever, was playing inside the apartment building. He couldn’t be older than about nine although his parents were so neglective that they didn’t seem to mind him scampering about of his own accord. They were rich and bought him toys and stuff which kept him happy (but how deeply happy?) and kept him out of their hair. He was playing with the simplest of toys as Deathrow walked past him, bouncing a ball against a wall and catching it again. He would turn his head as Deathrow strolled through the corridor and beamed.
Brandon: “Tommy, Tommy hi Tommy. Wow you and Billy sure kicked some major anus at Jokers Wild. Wow you sure are tough.
Deathrow smirking half assed at the kids compliments..
Deathrow: “Yeah that we did and that I am”
Brandon: “My dad says he could take you and Billy anytime any where. But I don’t believe him do you”
Deathrow: “No, god no! Brandon you tell your daddy that if he was to take on me I’d make him the bitch and he’d for sure know who his daddy is all right? Anyways I have some thinking to get done I will probably talk to you later”
The scene fades out as Deathrow heads up a flight of stairs and Brandon continues to bounce his ball of the wall.
He was not here for a check up. Nope. He’d had his last week. You see, he wasn’t content with having them every six months. No, he insisted on a monthly trip to the dentist. He knew every time that there wasn’t going to be anything wrong with his teeth, but why not just be safe? He could afford it, of course. Why shouldn’t he go when he wanted to? No, he wasn’t here for any tools to go anywhere near his mouth. He was here to take part in it. Help out for a while.
He was a pretty intimidating guy. Plus He had enough Experience to do pretty much anything he wanted to so no one could stop him at least inquiring about taking part in a surgery. After all, it had been his dream to be a dentist when he was younger and now he had the chance to take part in what he used to love, if only just for one time. It was only a small part but he had paid well for it. Anything to be that much closer to it all.
He waited outside, his hands slung in his jacket pocket as he smiled in a friendly way at the receptionist who shot what only could be seen as a glower back at him. They never got on, but he didn’t know that. He assumed they were best friends. She didn’t agree. I shall not disclose what it was that had her miffed when ever he came in, but I shall say that it involved Deathrow’s careful toothbrush collection process.
It was only a small room and it suited the independent tooth care establishment. Deathrow was very fond of the clinical feel that the room oozed and that was even more apparent in the practice room itself. He waited patiently in the waiting room as he stood outside, hands loosely in his pockets as he began to stroll about, casting his glance about the room before noticing a little girl reading a book. Deathrow frowned a little bit as he looked at her before turning away and saying very casually but at a volume she was bound to hear:
Deathrow: “-Someone- didn’t brush their teeth properly.”
The comment goes over the little girl’s head as she doesn’t raise it to look over the pages of the colorful book. Deathrow sighed happily to himself as he glanced at a picture of a polar bear. He glances over his shoulder again towards the girl who still didn’t look up from her book.
Deathrow: “Eating too much candy. Not using a circular brushing motion. Tut-tut.”
As if she assumed that he was just reading something aloud, she does not pay him any heed, looking at the pages of the book carefully. Deathrow frowned again a little bit before shrugging and turning away again.
Deathrow: “Your dads been drinking again and is going to beat you when you get home”
The little girl looks up at Deathrow as he keeps staring at the Picture on the wall. She begins to cry and places her hands on her face. Deathrow laughs to himself as if the polar bear picture is what has him smiling and laughing. He had always enjoyed the little comic strips they had at the dentist. So funny. So tooth related. He’d chuckle quietly to himself before turning and strolling towards the other side of the room to look at something else….
Eventually, he would be called into the main room. The little girl looked up still sobbing and Deathrow saw his chance, turning around and murmuring, “Good luck, you’re gonna need it kid!” Deathrow winked at her, It was not a nice thing to say, but Deathrow was in such high spirits that he didn’t really feel the need to be public-friendly. And he was proud of his own teeth and his lack of real need to be there, so why not rub it in a little bit? He deserved it!
His comment, however, drew mixed glances from the nurses. Deathrow, smiling proudly, would turn around again before heading into the room with the ladies. The little girl would blink, looking quite bewildered after his comment before raising the book again. A lady dressed in a manner which suggested that she was not part of the working team there walked past Deathrow as he went in and outstretched her hand (the one that was not rubbing her cheek in order to restore feeling in it), taking the little hand of the girl and leading her out. If only Deathrow had seen that the girl was in for no other reason than to be looked after while her mother was in surgery… Lord only knows the fun he could have had…
Deathrow looked about the room. He always savored the clinical smell. It was magnificent. So professional. So clean. He would be gazing about the room as if he had never been in there before (and also as if it wasn’t a place that didn’t have much to look at) before he is interrupted by a grouchy-looking nurse who hands him a tray. He’d outstretch his hands, blinking as it is practically thrust onto him. Something similar to “Hold this now.” is barked out at him and he would quietly comply, just happy to be in there, on the front line of dentistry. He’d smile politely as he stood there in his whites, watching as someone is treated for what looks to be a filling.
Deathrow: “ Oh I see… What are you doing again I forgot?”
Deathrow would pipe up unhelpfully as he looked over the crooked forms of the nurses as they leaned over to perform the surgery. The grouchy-looking nurse would murmur back to him without bothering to look back.
Nurse (Grouchy): “A damn filling don‘t you know anything.”
Deathrow nodded.
Deathrow: “Ahhh of course one of teeth unnatural wonders…”
There is another pause as he settles again, just holding the tray which any of the three nurses in the room plucked things from. He’d eventually speak up again.
Deathrow: “You using anesthetic?”
An exasperated reply.
Nurse (Grouchy): “Yes just be quiet would you.”
Deathrow would nod again, murmuring quietly in acceptance before settling down again, although his gaze constantly wanders about the small room. Something caught his eye. He’d set the white, metal tray down before turning around and moving a few steps away from the group of people. It was two large cylinders of Nitrous. He’d murmur quietly to himself, rubbing his clean chin before reaching out for the mask that was attached to the cylinders.
“I wonder…” he’d murmur quietly to himself before turning the dials on the bottles. It is the hiss of the exhaling bottles that got the attention of the nurses who all, as if synchronized, turn around at the same time to observe Deathrow just…laying on the floor. He was breathing okay but he was on the floor. And into a dream he slipped.
It was strange because it wasn’t like the normal dreams you have when you go to sleep of your own accord. It was more coherent. It made more sense. Deathrow dreamt of himself standing in the middle of the ring. The arena in which the ring stood was completely empty and, really, it didn’t resemble an arena at all. There were very dark pockets of shadow and nothing to support the belief that people could be seated. No seats and no floors. It took Deathrow a little while to realize that the ring was floating. There was no floor surrounding it and he was fairly sure that there was nothing beneath it either. No sign of any sort of fans anywhere, either. He was alone. Alone with a microphone in his hand. Creedence Clearwater Revival- have you ever seen the rain was playing in the background.
Although, obviously, you have little to no control of yourself in dreams, Deathrow was surprised to find that he could do nothing. Nothing. He was aware that he could do nothing other than watch as the microphone raised itself to his lips and he’d open them, eyes on the microphone in front of his lips. He’d begin to speak. The voice was his own but the words were not ones that he was consciously forming.
Deathrow: “I…Am…Deathrow. I am going to be one half of the next tag team champions of the NAPW.”
Yeah, that sounded about right. Hey, maybe this was a premonition. Perhaps this was just his subconscious. If so, then surely such confidence in his subconscious was a good thing. He would smile if he could and probably did so outside of his dream world even though he found it impossible to do anything of his own accord within it. The microphone remains there in front of his lips as he begins to speak again.
Deathrow: “And after winning the Tag Team Titles with my partner Billy Kryenik, I will go on to win one of the Singles belts. I will prove my greatness and no one will ever doubt me or Jack Hannah again.”
He liked this. He knew he liked it. He could feel everything. It was so lifelike. Like it wasn’t a dream at all but he had been shot with tranquilizers. Something he has had done many a times before. He’d make no effort to wrench himself from his unwilling sleep. It was nice. It was nice to hear such positive words coming from his mouth, not that anything he said wasn’t positive. He’d open his mouth to speak again (not that he was in control of it or anything) before stopping. His head would stiffly turn to the side to observe something in the audience. No. Someone.
It was her! That damn Penguin, That girl! The one with the big t###t that had been following him about everywhere trying to get her hands on him. Deathrow narrowed his eyes slightly to observe her as she stood all of that distance away. She was in what was definitely a cheerleader’s jacket and a miniskirt. She looked up towards the ring which was, Deathrow observed, definitely higher than it seemed moments ago before she gripped to the zip of the jacket she wore.
Upon closer inspection, Deathrow could tell that the expression on her face was not as blank as at first he had thought. He narrowed his eyes all the more as he tried to make it out in the darkness. It was…an attempt to seduce him. Silly penguin, Her expression was sultry and strangely enticing. She’d move about a little bit, her lower half shadowed by the corners of darkness in the dream arena. Deathrow would watch in awe as the hourglass-shaped bird would start to unzip her jacket magically. Deathrow tilted his head to the side. The jacket, as if in slow-motion, was peeled open. But he saw nothing belonging to a woman. Only rose petals. Hundreds, nah, thousands of them streaming out as if from inside her. They would float up towards the ring, so many of them there that his vision was blocked. He saw only red during the time that they swam past in the air and when the mist cleared, he was no longer in the arena…
No. He was at the dentist, looking up through bleary eyes towards the nurses who had expressions that could only be described as scowls on their faces…
* * *
What could the dream have meant? He pondered it as he walked the short distance from the dentist to his apartment. His finger trailed over his bottom lip as he struggled to think of what it could have possibly been implying. What could it have meant? He had to find out! He had to know!
On his way home from the dentist, he always seemed to bump into the same person (he knew this because of the fact that he visited it every month.) and today was no exception. He didn’t mind running into this particularly person because it was always nice to talk to your neighbors, but he couldn’t help but feel the kid had a bit of a one-track mind. But then, if you lived practically next door to a fairly famous wrestler, who’d been to court so many times for odd things that your head would spin. You’d have a bit of a one-track mind too.
Little Brandon, as ever, was playing inside the apartment building. He couldn’t be older than about nine although his parents were so neglective that they didn’t seem to mind him scampering about of his own accord. They were rich and bought him toys and stuff which kept him happy (but how deeply happy?) and kept him out of their hair. He was playing with the simplest of toys as Deathrow walked past him, bouncing a ball against a wall and catching it again. He would turn his head as Deathrow strolled through the corridor and beamed.
Brandon: “Tommy, Tommy hi Tommy. Wow you and Billy sure kicked some major anus at Jokers Wild. Wow you sure are tough.
Deathrow smirking half assed at the kids compliments..
Deathrow: “Yeah that we did and that I am”
Brandon: “My dad says he could take you and Billy anytime any where. But I don’t believe him do you”
Deathrow: “No, god no! Brandon you tell your daddy that if he was to take on me I’d make him the bitch and he’d for sure know who his daddy is all right? Anyways I have some thinking to get done I will probably talk to you later”
The scene fades out as Deathrow heads up a flight of stairs and Brandon continues to bounce his ball of the wall.