Quote:Smoke picks her up and goes for another Chokeslam, and he hits it!!!! He doesn't cover, but instead picks her up and hits another!!! He goes for a fourth in a row, but wait! Liz drops to her feet... THANK ME LATER!!! She drops down to the water in the pool, exhausted....

Smoke is not himself. His mind is elsewhere, and he feels like he's drowning in water, flailing around to live just a little longer, murmuring and screaming while he stares at the back of his eyelids. The situation is all to real, too real to be believed.

Quote:Shane comes out from the back, with a bucket in his hand....

The image becomes all the more vivid in Smoke's mind. He pulls and tugs at the water, but it just falls away from his fingers, like a mountain of velvet, forever lost in the limbo of nothingness, unable to climb or fall. An image of the devil clouds his mind, carrying an instrument of torture, or something that must be of that nature.

Quote:Is that.... Shane 's Feces? I think it is!!! It's Shane's Shit!!!!

Smoke screams, but his fear is muffled, as the devilish figure edges all the more closer, with that instrument swinging merrily, like a child at a playground.

Quote:Shane lifts the bucket up and goes to throw his shit all over Liz, but wait!!! SHE DUCKS!!! It lands all over Smoke Man!!!!!!!!!!!!! Shane cusses, and everyone cheers as Smoke is having a fit!!! He got covered in shit!!!!

Smoke fidgets uncontrollably, as the horrible, gooey mass encompasses his body, sending him spiraling down into mixed fits of rage and worry. The devil appears shocked at this apparent accident, but he seems like he's just putting it on. As if he really doesn't mean it. Smoke is just outright panicking, consumed in this nightmare world that is just too real. Too real.

Quote:SHANE LIFTS HIS LEG WITH A KICK TO THE VAGINA OF LIZ HATHAWAY!!!!

Liz shrieks, and Shane pushes her to Smoke, who hits a Chokeslam! He covers!

The devil harms an angel, and she lets out a tender scream of pain. Like a puppy whose tail had been trodden on. She reels in the pain, spinning around in an almost dream-like motion to face Smoke, who instinctively delivers more pain. Perhaps it was because he was panicking over the devil. Or perhaps it's what he truly wanted to do. Neither is certain, as Smoke's screams seem to be ambiguous between pleasure and pain.

Quote:...1 ...2 THREE!!!

As if by magic, Smoke's eyes finally shoot open, sending him back into the real world. A place where things made sense, and there weren't devil's throwing shit all over angels. Smoke tries to dispel these hallucinations by rubbing his eyes, ridding himself of his fatigue.

He sits up and looks out the window, his chest slowly rising and falling as he breathes deeply, stretching his eyelids to keep himself from drifting off again, blinking over and over to keep his eyes moist from the rude awakening. He's gripping the side of the mattress, his hands, arms, and whole body shaking and shuddering over the rough night. He thinks to himself as he tries to get a grip with reality.


After turning his back on during the Pay-Per-View, Smoke quickly gathered what little he had from the War Room and departed, not wanting to get caught first-hand by the grouchy boss. He had made his way to a nearby hotel in the area: nothing too fancy but a place to rest either way. Since then, he's been using most of his paychecks (which, for whatever reason, Shane is still giving him) to pay for a room every week or so, being sure to rent it as all-inclusive so that he doesn't have to worry about things like food and leisure. It takes most of his hard-earned cash to keep the room, but all he needs is a place to stay before he can even think about things like his own entertainment.

He stands up and stretches his back, walking over to the bathroom. He rubs his eyes once more, and stares at his own reflection in the mirror dead in the eye, glaring down the black void of his doppelganger's pupil. He leans on the sink, twisting his fingers around the basin and holding in as if he'll fall off a cliff if he let go. He breathes heavily, in and out of his mouth, making the mirror quickly mist up. As if he'd been defeated, Smoke steps back from the sink. He brushes the mist off with his hand, and something red catches his eye.

From the corner of his lips, a trickle of blood has started to form, racing down his chin and splattering into the marble sink. Turning his bottom lip inside-out, Smoke sees that he'd been biting down onto it a little too hard, and it had burst open, leaving a noticeable taste of blood in his mouth. He chuckles nervously to himself.

This must be what Minxs feels like.

He turns the tap and cold water begins to trickle out, washing the still splattering blood from the sink and down the rain, for the rats to feast on. Smoke puts his mouth under the tap and begins to gulp longingly at the lush, cool liquid that cascades from the opening, falling onto his tongue and down his throat. He catches some in his cheek and rinses his mouth of the blood, spitting it down into the sink to be drained away like the rest.

Returning to a standing position, Smoke cups his hand under the water, collecting most of it while the rest fall between his fingers. He splashes his faces with this water and wipes it, paying special attention to his lip. It seems that the bleeding has gone down a little, but that won't stop it from bleeding still. Looking around the room, Smoke grabs the role of toilet paper, ripping a few sheets off, and dabbing it onto his cut. The once white paper is now riddled with red, and Smoke realises that just because he's now using toilet paper, that doesn't mean it's any more effective than just water itself. He comes to the conclusion that he's going to need something to cover it up and keep the blood down. Like a plaster.

Sighing, Smoke rips a load of toilet paper from the roll and holds it to his mouth, grabbing the room's key, and exiting the door. Being sure to lock it on his way out.

---

Crossing the lobby floor, Smoke makes his way over to the building's reception area. One side of the large hall is just covered in large paneled windows, letting the early morning sun stream in with little-to-no interruption from anything else.

Smoke doesn't take it in much, though. He keeps his eye on the marble tiles as he crosses the room. He can see the blood spreading across the tissue from the corner of his eye, so he speeds up a little.

At the desk is a woman, hastily tapping away at a laptop, bored out of her mind, with a coffee to one side. With the way she looks, one can either assume her night-shift is coming to an end, or she had just begun her early morning one. Either way, she didn't look happy. Smoke approached the desk.

Hey, could you help me?

The woman rolls her eyes up to Smoke for a second, before glaring back at the screen and sighing.

What is it?

I need a plaster for my lip.

She looks up at him, fully this time.

A what?!

Smoke is unsure what to say.

You know... a plaster.

Like... they have on walls?

Smoke is taken aback.

What!? No!

Smoke then realises she's American.

Oh. I need a band-aid.

The woman giggles a little.

Oh right, I forgot, hahaha...

She starts to really laugh, and Smoke rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. She speaks again, but you can still here her laughing anyway.

Yeah, yeah, that's fine. They should be in the first-aid box in her room.

Smoke sighs.

You mean to tell me I came all the way downstairs for a plaster - band-aid - for you to tell me it's in my room anyway?!

She giggles again.

Yyyep. They should be in the bathroom, behind the mirror.

Smoke facepalms, not believing his stupidity today.

Damnit I was just there!

She proceeds to laugh her ass off.

Damn Americans with their mirror cupboards.

Hey, it's not our fault you're used to mirrors without cupboards! Maybe you should get with the times.

She's still laughing as Smoke turns to leave.

Wait! Don't go! I need to make fun of your gap-teeth!! Have you had your tea this morning!? Don't go!!

Smoke rolls his eyes and reaches the elevator... with a smile spread on his own face. He tells it to go up to his floor and he turns to face the receptionist, who pretends to reach for Smoke as she extends her arm over the counter.

Noooooo--

She is cut off by the doors closing, and in her place Smoke hears the sanity of elevator music, as he climbs the building once more.

Well that was a fruitful endeavor.