#chyna9

"It shouldn't be too difficult to get them up to snuff." Mox offers her the roster- printed, old school, on a clipboard that's clearly been through some shit- and explains the notes he's jotted down for each. "Some of them are coming back from nasty shit. Others are just green. Best way to know how they fit, and where, is going to be getting the help of someone I trust to not fuck around about it."

The reality: he can run them through their paces all day long, but he's still just one man. He knows if someone's got the cut of a Death Rider. Knows if someone's worth spending the time on. He can't however, take himself away from the rest of his duties to try and learn how to train up scrappy beginners, old hands adjusting to recovering bodies, and everything in between.

Hell- between East Saint Louis making him lose sleep and the situation in Buffalo growing more precarious with every passing month, he can't lose more sleep over wondering if he's failing at something this fundamental. No, it was time to bring in the big guns.

Hey everyone, it's been a tough time for me lately but I am finally back!

the night starts the way it always does. one shot to celebrate a good day at the office, another to placate the pain. one to keep his temper from boiling over, and one more to cope with the person he's become, something dangerous and out of control. a quick excuse to the bathroom for fine white lines across a porcelain counter polished off his high and, mercifully, shawn could escape the growing disdain for himself for a few blissful hours.

fingers fluff up the blonde hair spilling over his shoulders, framing his face turned crimson courtesy of the liquor rushing through his veins. he was fine. it was easy to ignore the dark circles under his eyes from stress, from nights of missed sleep and pushing his body to its limit. a watery smile is forced to his face in the reflection of the dirty bathroom mirror; he brushes away stray powder from beneath his nose, washes his hands and sucks in a deep breath. he was gorgeous, and he was fine.

it starts the way it always does, with an emptiness in his chest and a desperation to fill the void that heartbreak had left behind.

the club is far too loud when he finally makes his way back down the long hallway. that was just as well; thrumming music was one more thing to drown out the guilt that had made a home for itself in his head. through a sea of dancing bodies and toward a booth in a corner of the room, shawn returns to the safety of the small group -- his group, his family, the only people willing to put up with your sorry ass, a distant voice says -- and tucks himself comfortably against chyna’s side.

there's a pleasant hum in his chest when shawn finally asks, "what'd i miss?"

Continued from...

https://chyna9.tumblr.com/post/639271564840419328/continued-from

The demon inside stays locked away to keep others from suffering my fate.  Save yourself the pain.  Leave before the demon decides to keep you.

Dressed in leather, color overcome the cheeks, a confession danced between the delicate balance of their union, the tides that bound Bret to Joanie. Arms wrapped around, tight and secure, unbroken. Alone in an entire world; for nothing existed beyond them, touches so warm and affection that made all pains fade. A dream, sweetness that felt impossible to have, the Hitman somehow blessed. Fate had changed for the better. Chose compassion - unlike a steel chair, a bloodied fist - held pity for Canada's forsaken son. Not imagined to be forever, such never was, not then, but more than gladly accepted, welcomed. Bret would spoil Joanie. Pamper her, indulge her, provide for her in all the ways he hadn't and was prevented from. Deprived of the chance, for neither Vince nor DX wanted him to be happy, stolen.

Poked in playfulness, Bret smiled to Joanie, his expression boyish, bright. Nodded without a word, her obedient slave, her faithful lover, took her lips in a chaste kiss and then reached for her hand. Wove their fingers together, a gentle hold, pulled her with him outside. Greeted the breeze that ruffled hair, drove for miles the scents of taverns and clubs, the life of the local town. Wandered the street until a shop was spotted, a woman's boutique, what was assumed to be a good start. Eyes locked onto the windows - large and full, to display upon mannequins the latest fashion trends - so many fabrics, so many patterns. It was a great contrast from his own wardrobe. Lots of plaids in limited hues, basic cotton tees, a few pairs of jeans and good brown boots. Bret hoped that Joanie would find something she liked.

"How about here?" He offered, head flicked in the direction of the front doors, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Might have something pretty for you, y'know."

Approaching the door, Bret opened it, signaled for Joanie to walk inside first, to take in the sights and make a judgement. He would follow her lead, always.

Send "Slap!" to slap my muses ass.

Send "Outch!" for the oposite.

@chyna9