Post by The Mad King on Aug 8, 2023 1:09:29 GMT -6
The Mad King seethes. He watches the main event finish.
THE MAD KING: Congratulations, Battle bouy.
He scoffs to himself as he lists the remote. He rewinds and, as seems to be ritual for the veteran psychopath, watches the shoe over again. He snipes at Goldworthy and Connors on Fighter Talk before tossing his phone away for the evening. He stares at the screen. He studies. He knows.
THE MAD KING: Oh, what do YOU want?
Melinda is on the screen. Retiring. Flip looks on in humored disgust as it happens. He just shakes his head without further remark. He knows that she knows what "three inches" meant. She's bowing out and, right now, The Mad King just nods as it transpires.
He is less quiet about the marriage segment. A little perturbed, it seems, muttering something about being an ordained minister. Something else, though, something out of his peripheral vision perhaps? Flips head zips up or darts around every time Jim Connors fights off the thing banging at his door. He sits a little uncomfortably in the steel chair as the show returns to his pre-match segment.
He weeps.
He just got his eleventh season victory and Jim Connors tells him he must earn a guaranteed rematch?
Flip downright mourns, alone, in this locker room.
Nary a running camera in sight.
But someone always watching.
THE MAD KING: Congratulations, Battle bouy.
He scoffs to himself as he lists the remote. He rewinds and, as seems to be ritual for the veteran psychopath, watches the shoe over again. He snipes at Goldworthy and Connors on Fighter Talk before tossing his phone away for the evening. He stares at the screen. He studies. He knows.
THE MAD KING: Oh, what do YOU want?
Melinda is on the screen. Retiring. Flip looks on in humored disgust as it happens. He just shakes his head without further remark. He knows that she knows what "three inches" meant. She's bowing out and, right now, The Mad King just nods as it transpires.
He is less quiet about the marriage segment. A little perturbed, it seems, muttering something about being an ordained minister. Something else, though, something out of his peripheral vision perhaps? Flips head zips up or darts around every time Jim Connors fights off the thing banging at his door. He sits a little uncomfortably in the steel chair as the show returns to his pre-match segment.
He weeps.
He just got his eleventh season victory and Jim Connors tells him he must earn a guaranteed rematch?
Flip downright mourns, alone, in this locker room.
Nary a running camera in sight.
But someone always watching.
