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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 1 2018, 11:49 PM (81 Views) | |
| Lyza Reyes | Jan 1 2018, 11:49 PM Post #1 |
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A constant ticking sound has been lingering for what feels like an eternity; it’s not a clock or electronic device, but it’s just as annoying and nerve-wracking. I can almost empathize with Captain Hook at this point, except I was the crocodile that swallowed the clock. And it was time to disgorge it. ____________________________ Date: January 1st, 2018. Location: The Space Age/Corona Queens, N.Y. Typically Lyza's fitness routine consisted of going to the gym and or training wherever she could access a wrestling ring and what not. After her disappointing appearance at Endgame, she made time to visit the batting cages her father used to frequent when he was alive. Fond memories were had at this place as Reyes and her younger brother, Kalvin practiced their swing technique with some coaching from the Costa Rican patriarch. She's spent the last half hour or so swinging at baseballs dispensing from a machine at 50 to 70 miles per hour. She was no slugger by any means, but anytime she could connect with a well timed swing, it was glorious for the former Queens resident. “Don't laugh, pa,” she whispers, preparing for the next ball. She had a tendency to do funny motions, like the stanky leg dance move before going back to swing drills. Although she was alone, the quirk remained. Brandon and Nolan would be the one to point it out in a joking manner these days. As much as she kept herself distracted, that pesky mind of hers kept bringing up the same thoughts that brought her to the batting cages to begin with. She hated feeling as though she were a step behind on some things in her personal and professional life when at one point, she was usually ahead. She doesn't feel as though she’s there in terms of her career. A wake up call, confidence boost...some kind of spark was missing. It's been ages since she's felt victorious and satisfied with a match outcome. There was always some distraction, outsider, mostly things she had no control over. Going into hitman mode behind the curtains was tempting to say the least. Not many wanted to value hard work and appreciate their efforts in a hard battle. Instead, they were seeking shortcuts and handouts. There was no real satisfaction in doing that, at least for Ms. Reyes. Something's eating away at Brandon, and she hasn't figured it out. All she has are scattered puzzle pieces to work with. A hypochondriac seeking a medical diagnosis for symptoms from WebMD had more accuracy than her initial theories. Adding the death of Magnum only made it worse, though she needed to be okay in order to be there in difficult times. There were moments where she questioned returning back to the ‘states when she had it all in Playa Chiquita, Costa Rica. Her worst offenders were dirty guests with little to no house training. Other than that, it was pura vida. All day, everyday. Getting to that point made her think of another side of her past. She shakes her head, deciding not to entertain it any further. Despite those thoughts along with others, there was still hope. Somehow she convinced herself that you can’t appreciate the stars without darkness. There was no way she returned to her homeland three years ago to waste her time. But it was always reassuring having that secret oasis to run back to if need be. “MOTHER OF PHO!” she shouts while shaking her left hand in pain. Without realizing soon enough, a 70mph baseball came for her hand like a bullet. She exits the cage with the bat in her right hand, walking towards a bench where her personal belongings were kept. She unzips her duffel bag to take out a stainless steel water canister (the ones advertised to keep cold drinks cold for 24 hours,) using it to keep her hand from swelling like a catcher’s mitt. Other than the security camera and a negligent college student on site, there wasn’t anyone else to take notice of what just happened to the ITV Champion. She eventually brushes it off, chuckling to herself as she looks for the exit with her bag over her shoulder, and bat in her dominant hand. Met with nightfall, she shivers somewhat as the temperature took a slight drop from the time she arrived at when she stepped outside to get to her car. Before entering her Audi, she examined her hand closely, looking at the lines on her palms, to the area that was wanting to swell from the impact of the flying baseball. She turns it over, raising her arm with her hand pointing at the Wolf Moon as though reaching for it like a top shelf item. A surge of energy is felt running through the veins in her forearm, reaching her fingertips. She slowly lowers her arm, and once again examines her injured hand. She then takes out her key to unlock the driver’s door of her car before getting inside. Once seated, she reaches for a small first aid kit box, opening it carefully to take out what looks like surgical tweezers. “Necesito desconectar,” she mouths to herself with her eyes closed. With her right thumb, she gently applies pressure to her left thumb and index finger. Finding the “sweet spot,” she balls her left hand into a fist, squeezing for a small bump to form on the section she focused on. She then takes the tweezer, inserting the sharp tip into her skin applying pressure to extract a copper toned chip from within. A feeling of relief fills her as she lets out a sigh. She made her first move against the opposer and was ready for whatever consequences here on, but for once, she had control. She grabs a cotton gauze pad from the kit, dabbing it over the tiny wound to keep from shedding more blood. To be safe, she covers the wound with a small bandage and proceeds to enter the key in the ignition. As she gives the car about thirty seconds to warm up, she turns the sound system on, allowing for her MP3 player to play whatever was next on her driving playlist. |
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