White and Thick.
No, Not What You’re Thinking Of, You Sick Bastard.
Gwenivere’s long legs were stretched out in front of her, crossed over one another at the ankle. The bench was cold on her backside as she sat on it. The metal bolts that held the wood on the frame of the bench, was immensely cold. They had conducted the coolness from the snow and the air and were now feeding it into the backs of her warm thighs. It gave her slight chills up her spine, but it was otherwise ignored. Her arm extended slightly, fingers expanding and curling together. Her elbow was aching. Her forehead creased with pain as she brought her arm back to her side, draping it over her thighs. Her cigarette was flicked away, evaporating into the snow.
She pulled her black coat around her more, hunching her shoulders further to hide them from the cold weather. She had been sitting on the bench for nearly an hour. Eventually, Gwen had been joined by a woman. Unexpectedly, Morgana had been walking through the same park. She had joined Gwenivere on the bench. They had sat together in a sort of revered silence of one another. One was the former World Champion, the other the current National Champion. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at Morgy. She was clad in a long, plaid coat. Black and pink jeans were exposed beneath the plaid coat, as well as the bottom hem of a bright red t-shirt. On her feet were orange and pink sneakers that had black laces.
“Ain't found a way to kill me yet
Eyes burn with stinging sweat
Seems every path leads me to nowhere
Wife and kids household pet
Army green was no safe bet
The bullets scream to me from somewhere… ooooh…”
The silence was broken a little while after by a soft chuckle emitting from Gwenivere. “Christ, Morgy. Who would have thought it, huh?” Morgana looked at her oddly; sort off curiously before chuckling a bit and shaking her head. “Yeah, no kidding. Me and Cameron all in one stable.” Gwen smiled a bit, leaning back into the bench, hooking her arms over the back. “Yeah. Three main-eventers and I in one stable.” Morgana nodded her agreement, shaking her head.
As she sat there with the aforementioned Morgy, she suddenly felt something cold and hard slamming into the back of her head. She winced and cussed loudly, her hand lifting to grasp where her head had been hit. Instantly, her hand sank into a huge mass of snow that was tangled into her hair and sinking down the back of her neck and into her clothes. She quickly got to her feet, bending over a bit to brush out the snow from her coat. She spun around; ready to punch whoever thought it would be so god damned funny to whip snow at her. She was taken aback when she saw Amy, clad in a hot pink, down-filled jacket, dragging along Seraph by the wrist. Adam Cameron followed close behind. Adam laughed a bit, clapping his hands together to dust off the snowflakes from his hands. The three were nearly completely different in style.
Amy had mixed her passed style of clothing with her new one that Gwenivere had introduced her to. Beneath the hot pink snow jacket, was a pair of black track pants that would no doubt keep her legs extremely warm. Her hands were covered with those gloves that had no fingers, but had the attachment that would come over her exposed fingertips and to make them look like gloves. She had on a pair of black earmuffs and a plaid scarf. All of her clothing was contradicting itself, but she was like Gwenivere and could care less if her clothes matched or what she looked like on the exterior. Upon her feet were black, clunky and large snow boots. Amy already knew the most powerful lesson that it took forever for Gwen to learn: be yourself, no one can take that away from you. Her dark brown hair hung loose around her face, curling into her jaw line before stopping just at her shoulders. Gwen looked between Amy and Morgana, brow raised slightly.
Seraph on the other hand, was dark and brooding. Much like Gwen, herself. Long, semi-loose fitted jeans adorned his muscular legs. His free hand, which Amy wasn’t tugging on, was stuffed deeply into his pocket. His broad shoulders adorned a knee-length trench coat that had only one button done up around his waist. His heavy brow was creased slightly with what she assumed to be annoyance though with him, she could never really tell. Seraph was a much closed personality and posture, never letting much known of his inner thoughts and whatnot. He pried his hand from Amy to adjust the black wife-beater and white over-shirt that was also buttoned once at the waist. That hand lifted to run through his scruffy, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed hair that was somewhat gelled back, though the gel was most likely washed away by the falling snow. He had black boots on, as well, though they were less childish than Amy’s. Seraph was the epitome of classy but internally tormented Goth.
Adam probably looked the most respectable out of all of them. He was clad in dark green cargos that hung loosely off his hips. The side pockets were stuffed with his wallet, cellular phone and other such things. One, no doubt, was completely filled with girls’ numbers. It wouldn’t have surprised Gwen. His hands were sunk deep into his black leather, bomber jacket that went down to just above his hips and was unzipped. Beneath the jacket, were a black, long-sleeved shirt and a dark green vest. Upon his feet were sneakers that looked worse for wear, but were decent enough to fit with the ensemble he had going. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a tail, strands hanging loose around his face. He looked as though he were wearing a classic biker-style ensemble. All he needed now was the Harley and the babe on the back.
“ Here they come to snuff the rooster
Yeah here come the rooster
You know he ain't gonna die…”
“Ooooh, Cameron... you are going to wish you had never been born.” Gwen smirked as she bent down, grabbing a big handful of snow. She packed it together quickly in her hand and flung it at Cameron. However, she missed and hit Seraph smack-dab in the center of his chest. Her eyes went wide as she began to stifle a fit of giggles. Seraph, however, looked from the snow on his chest, back to Gwen, then back to the snow. He brushed it off before casually bending over and picking up a handful of snow. He too packed it together before whipping it back at Gwen. Gwenivere yelped and stepped to the side. She watched as the snow hit Morgana in the shoulder.
The five of them exchanged quick glances before snowballs were being flung everywhere. Cameron, taking the opportunity of the Frost Incorporated snowball fight, made a particular big snowball as he crouched behind the bench. He popped up and chucked the massive ball of cold, wet snow at Morgana. It hit her square in the face, causing her to fall back and cough. Amy frowned in dismay before running towards him. She jumped off the bench and tackled him into the snow, putting a fistful of snow beneath his shirt. She cackled evilly before running away again, hiding behind Gwenivere.
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The five of them went into Seraph’s home, laughing. All were soaking wet, their hair slick against their faces and clothes. They all peeled off their coats and kicked off their boots, laughing a bit harder. Adam leaned against the wall, holding his stomach as he laughed deeply. Morgana and Gwen leaned against one another, giggling. Amy was clinging to Seraph’s arm, chuckling lightly. Seraph was the quietest of them all. He smiled extremely faintly, making small, chortling noises that halted once attention was drawn away from him. Gwen sighed a bit and shook her head, stretching out her back.
“Whaddya say, guys? Pizza and coffee? It’s on me!” Adam exclaimed, nodding his head energetically. From one addiction to the next, Gwenivere thought to herself. She licked her lips to moisten them before nodding frenetically. She shivered a bit as Amy grabbed hers and Morgana’s hands, dragging them into the living room and pretty much ordering them to start a fire so that they were all able to warm up quicker.
“Walkin' tall machine gun man
They spit on me in my home land
Gloria sent me pictures of my boy
Got my pills 'gainst mosquito death
My buddy's breathin' his dyin' breath
Oh God please won't you help me make it through…”
It was about a forty-five minute wait before the pizza arrived at the door. Cameron had taken the liberty to order three, extra-large, cheese and pepperoni pizzas. Gwenivere and Seraph had made a few cups of coffee, as well as some hot cocoa for Amy. They all sat in front of the fireplace now, eating pizza and talking about their careers and pasts before they had joined New Era Wrestling. Gwen talked about F.A.W.L., a lot. Cameron talked about his infamous “Cameron Era”. Morgana talked about her reign as World Champ, and how she had had the most days in all with the title: one-hundred and thirteen days. Seraph talked about… well… nothing. He just sat there and listened. Gwenivere supposed that was an honourable trait, compared to some who never listened and just talked about themselves. And little Amy… she talked about school and how she hated most, if not all, of her teachers.
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And so, you now have had a look into the out-of-arena lives of Frost Incorporated. Rivalries between members have been silenced… for the most part. (Insert meaningful glare at Cameron here) All of us have come to cope with the fact, that we are all in it together. We all know well enough, that if we hold together steadfast, we will succeed and prevail. This, I have told all of them. I may not be the boss or the leader of the group… but tactical thinking leads me to be the brains. Morgana leads us, but I give her advice as to where to make us follow.
My match against Acrophobia and Trevor Wrath. Hurrah. I can already feel myself growing weary of this Acrophobia person. Trevor Wrath, you speak of how I am becoming blind by the fact that I have the National title and am under the wing of three N.E.W. headliners. This is where you are wrong, deary. I am blind to nothing. I see what you are doing. I may have obtained the National belt through… somewhat not-nice means, but I do have it, yes? I must have proven myself somewhere in order to be put in such a match.
Welcome home, Trevor. Happy fucking New Year. The happiness won’t last. I assure you of that. I’m no good with predicting the outcomes of matches and what have you, but I do predict that you and Acrophobia will not be making it to the second round. Surely, you do not expect more, for if you did, would that not make you the same as you say I am? A man lost in his own delusions of grandeur and self-righteousness. I may be new, chéri, but I am excelling magnificently. As for my counter-part… she will do fine, I imagine. Happy Christmas, Santa.
“Rooster” by Alice In Chains
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