His long dreadlocks were tied back into a ponytail that allowed him to don the black headband and domino mask that concealed his identity. His upper body was scantily covered by a half-jacket that came with built-in fingerless gloves and left his well-toned chest and abs completely exposed. Pairs of shoulder and forearm pads added to the roguish warrior look that he was going for. White, loose fitting pants with grey and black artwork of a roaring sea covered his lower body, held in place with an elaborate black belt that carried large waves of silver, with a black pair of wrestling boots being his footwear.
Spoiler
This was it. In just moments, he was going to be coming out to compete in his first match. He checked the stability of his mask for the umpteenth time. If this went to hell and he ended up getting booed out of the building -- which he knew was likely on account of his complete lack of training in the art of professional wrestling -- he wanted to be able to get out with at least a little of his dignity intact.
No.
No. No.
NO.
He can't. And he started kicking himself on the inside for even thinking it.
He made a promise on his good friend Ryan Huerta's grave. Swore that he'd do his damnedest to make it as far as the former wrestler and sexfighter said he could, and make sure that Chelsea and the kids were taken care of while he's at it. Gamestop pay wasn't the best way to accomplish that, which is why he downed a nice, tall glass of sake like it was water, got to work on that resignation notice and turned it in. Got it done before he could start thinking too much about going back, like he was just now.
There's only one way to go now, and that's forward. He's committed.
As a last ditch effort to calm himself, Severin started on a groove even before Skee-Lo's "I Wish" sounded through the arena. At the twelve second mark, he finally stepped through the curtain and made his appearance, moving in harmony with the music as he made his way to the ring. He danced with a grace so well-practiced that it had become natural to him, but there was something missing from it, still.
Those with an observant eye would note his lack of engagement with the crowd; how if his eyes turned to them, it would be completely by coincidence. He wasn't even smiling. Those two things came together to paint the picture of a sort of "forget my problems" dancing.
His theme was meant to help with that. To keep him distracted and moving forward. It was the tale of a man who'd taken his insecurities and projected them into song, and it ended up becoming a hit. It was energy that he'd need.
Severin was of two minds about this not being the Hentai match that he truly wanted it to be: He wasn't looking forward to the physicality that would come with the Standard fare. Not against himself, but instead what he'd be expected to bring against his female opponent. He was aware the Hentai matches could get pretty rough as well, but at least there were orgasms in the equation.
But then again, maybe it wasn't the kind of action for him. He didn't have what it takes to satisfy a woman even in the comfort of his own home, or her home. Why should he expect things to go any differently when it's a competition?
Yeah, he'd just be embarrassing himself in front of millions.
This is for the best.
The newcomer entered the ring with a leap over the ropes and transitioned into a breakdancer's windmill upon landing, eventually flipping back onto his feet, drawing a quick little pop from the crowd. He let out a satisfied chuckle, and some of that nervous energy that he was attempting to get rid of with it.
It came back when he turned to the stage and waited for his opponent to make her entrance.
