Arryn: "I really don't see why I need to be here."

Here, being some gym in the city of Detroit, Michigan. If you were to tell Arryn earlier this month that there'd be any point in which she'd be in Detroit, let alone there for any reason other than another forced relocation, she'd probably laugh in your face before sticking a shiv into your side and running off with your money. Yet, here she was, amongst the rows and rows of treadmills which were mostly vacant except for the occasional overweight person struggling to keep up with the belt even at its slowest, and the weight lifting muscle junkies who likely experimented with every substance under the sun, legal or not. Oh well, their shriveled up balls are on them. Looking out on the large room she was stuck in, where a couple of weightlifters with particularly wandering eyes met her gaze, her eyes immediately shifted downwards to what she was wearing; a white crop top, black short shorts, and running shoes. Typical, standard fare for a gym goer in actuality. However, her self inspection was cut short by her (hired without her knowledge) private trainer: a portly, balding man named Jim.

Jim: "Oh, is that so?"

Jim's sarcastic smile while asking that question quickly faded to a serious scowl in his student's direction. His hands fidgeted, messing with the bottom of his track jacket as Arryn stood motionless, staring blankly back at him. After a few seconds of silent staring, she nods her head yes to the inquiry and quickly turns back to head out the door she came in through, before his large, hairy knuckled hand grabs onto her elbow before she gets even a few inches away.

Jim: "Hold up there; I didn't say you could go yet."

Arryn: "Right, silly me."

She turns around and looks directly down at the ground, half smirking as her eyes momentarily look up to her instructor before retreating to the floor once more.

Jim: "I was paid to train ya, and god dammit I don't leave a job unfinished."

Arryn: "The job hasn't even started."

Jim: "Precisely. Which is why I need you to tell me what you want to work on."

She sighs, throwing her right arm over her left shoulder and twisting her entire body left until a series of pops ring out from her back, which she responds to by doing the same for her right side until another chorus of pops chimes up. Returning her hands to her side, she doesn't bother looking up from the ground.

Arryn: "Well, I just recently took up employment as a professional wrestler."

Jim: "You're kidding, right?"

She shakes her head no.

Jim: "Well, I'll be damned. I ain't see that coming."

Arryn: "Story of my life, right there."

Jim: "What was that?"

Arryn: "Nothing. Can we please get to the training?"

Admittedly, Arryn's patience was starting to run a little thinner than usual. Naturally, she was incredibly on edge and prone to snap at random times for various reasons, however every moment she spent in this gym pushed her closer and closer to that edge to the point where she wondered if there was another point in time where she'd been this close without losing it. So far, she hasn't thought of an instance yet. The amount of witnesses in this room alone was too high for her to risk arrest by strangling Jim to death right then and there.

Jim: "Right, right. Now, I'm guessing you're getting ready for your first match, huh?"

Arryn: "No you see, that's the thing. If it was for my first match I'd be completely fine with doing this. But it isn't; and I won my first match. That's the part I don't get."

Jim: "Considering how eager you are to leave, I'm not sure if I believe you there hun. Let's start with something basic, a punch. Can you throw a punch?"

Arryn's eyes lit up at the opportunity to hit something, even if it didn't turn out to be the instructor himself.

Arryn: "I think I can manage that."

"Me. You aren't going to be trying to hit stationary targets, after a-"

It's about that time that Arryn's right fist connected with the sweet between his open lips and collided right into his crooked, yellow teeth and sent him staggering back a couple of inches. With a now bleeding middle knuckle from where his tooth cut it, she shakes her fist and covers her slightly bleeding wound with the palm of her other hand and looks to where Jim was standing, hand pressed to his mouth.

Arryn: "How was that, coach?"

Jim: "Ouch."

Arryn: "That good, huh?"

Her half smirk slowly became a full smirk as he pulled away his hand to show off a bleeding bottom lip before covering it up once more. He licks his bloody lip and shakes his head as he walks on over to her.

Jim: "Guess I walked right into that one."

Arryn: "Figuratively and literally."

Jim: "Do you have another match coming up soon?"

Arryn: "That's the reason I'm in town: Tomorrow night."

Jim: "Ah! Care to tell me about who you're facing?"

Arryn: "Depends. Can you walk and talk at the same time?"

He stands, slightly confused for a moment before looking down at where she was looking; her fists. Without thinking, he raises his fists up and gets into a fighting stance.

Jim: "Yes, I can."

Arryn: "Perfect."

She steps in and throws a right straight punch to Jim's face, which he sidesteps and returns with a jab right to the nose that connects, knocking her back a bit.

Arryn: "Well, it's a tag team match and I know jack shit about my own partner, so I'm off to a great start talking about the participants.

One of my opponents is a guy who calls himself the "Xtreme Franchise". Seriously, I couldn't make that up if I wanted to he actually calls himself that. I swear, that's the most generic, half brained thing I've heard since Sterling Steal (the guy I beat in my first match) tried to insult me."

Jim: "Are these insults common?"

Left hook from the big guy, which Arryn ducks and uses her position to hit him in his uncovered stomach. He doubles over for a brief second and she strikes him in the face with her elbow.

Arryn: "Very. Anyway, back to the generic guy again. His own partner doesn't want to be associated with him so I'm assuming the worst from him. You have to be a special kind of terrible to turn off someone without even having a match first.

Speaking of that guy, he's a bit of nutjob. And really stupid.

I say stupid because he thinks his attempts at creepy flirting will either somehow get me to loosen up and not stomp his skull into the canvas or will freak me out or something.

Is this guy serious? Getting into fights with a narrator or something and then going on these little rants that all somehow turn into fantasies about him and I (and my sister)? What the fuck is all this?

This, this has to be a joke right? There's no way this much inherent idiocy be displayed so proudly without there being some catch; and the only catch I can think of is that he's joking and that this all some big illusion. However, given the way I've seen him act prior, I don't think he's joking which makes the whole deal that much more sad.

Not sad as in I need a tissue to wipe my tears.

Sad as in "Can someone really get this pathetic?"

And the answer to that in the case of Brodie Tyler; yes it can. And it has.

I'm going to have stomping the shit out of you, you fucking moron."

Cue roundhouse kick. It connects, and ol' Jim is out like a light. Smiling, Arryn kneels down beside the fallen man and whispers:

Arryn: "That's the end of that."