Theme: Phones
1. [fandom: wrestling]
He hadn't seen Punk in months. Not face to face, anyway. There had been a couple of times he'd seen an appearance on Heat or maybe caught a little bit on a DVD someone else was watching of recent ROH shows. It was never the same person. First Daniels, then AJ, then Sabin. But that didn't matter much. The point was that he hadn't had any firsthand connection to Punker, a kid he'd been tighter with than the rumors had him with Stevie in the past, in longer than he cared to think.
Raven sighed and eyed the phone that sat on the counter on the other side of the kitchen. He sat at his prized Waffle House table, blunt fingers tapping restlessly on the familiar surface. The phone was another thing that he and Punk had seemed to learn to avoid when it came to each other.
However, his gaze wasn't retreating this time. Not like it had all the others. There were reasons beyond the personal for him to get back in touch with Punk now.
Damn D'Amore. Damn him and his incessant pleading.
Damn himself for giving in.
2. [fandom: wrestling]
Matt stared at his reflection, taking in the hollow-eyed mess he'd become in the past few weeks. It didn't bother him, not that he'd admit. Taking stock of himself in the mirror was not something he'd expected to do, though.
A quick glance had turned into a long, searching look for a missing piece. As the clock ticked and the moments stretched around him, Matt was made aware. His brave face, his roll with the punches bravado, was cracking under the pressure. Before long, it would start to fall away, revealing the raw wounds that waited. He didn't want to see them, didn't want to see that Angelic Diablo was just another part of his mask. This didn't happen to the strong one.
He was thankfully distracted before it could happen by his cell trying its best to get his attention from where it was clipped on at his hip. The mask was firmly bricked back together across his tired face as he recognized the ringtone.
"Hey, John," he said upon answering. Matt dragged his hand through his lank hair, the dark locks recently freed of curls. "What's shakin'?"
3. [fandom: rps]
When the cell phone rang for his attention from its spot on the desk, beside him but out of reach of a wayward elbow, Trent knew who it was without looking. The tone of the ring itself was angry, giving the caller away faster than anything else could have. He let it go for a few more rings so he could finish up the line in his head before it escaped. If Marshall hung up before Trent managed to answer, it wouldn't be more than a minute before the phone started ringing again - this was one man that never left a message when he was displeased.
Finally, though, Trent set down his pencil and pushed the notepad away. Picking up the phone, he connected and held it away from his ear as he said, "Go for it."
A pause filled the air, then the rage piled out on him. "Reznor, you fuckin' dick, why the hell did you pull your whiny ass off the show? And don't give me that bullshit you put on your site 'cause I don't fuckin' believe it. It was gonna be our night, you said that."
"Love you, too, Marshall."
4. [fandom: ronin warriors]
Rowen trudged inside, weary from a lengthy hike through the surrounding forest. It had been him seeking some alone time as much as it had been a patrol, that's why he'd volunteered to take up Kento's turn and let the big lug sleep off his injuries longer.
He passed Mia in the hall, not even noticing the greeting she gave him. As he stumbled into the kitchen, he briefly lamented not taking up Sai's offer to fill in for Kento instead. Not even the power of his armor kept him from feeling the results of a long haul. Dismissing the dark blue armor, heavy plate and lightweight body, Rowen collapsed into a chair at the table.
They weren't supposed to have to worry about this stuff anymore. Talpa was defeated, banished from the human realm. He was the closest a demon of his sort could come to dead, really. The previous few weeks, though, had been filled with a rash of mysterious attacks on the Koji residence and a wide swath of nearby townships.
A murmur drew Rowen's gaze. He found Sage across the table from him, the phone to his ear.
5. [fandom: wrestling]
Chris Jericho was a lonely man these days. He was on the road more often than not and it seemed to be getting worse as the hours rolled past. He knew he wasn't the only person in the world that kept such a busy schedule, but it wasn't always easy to remember that.
He sat back in the greasy embrace of a corner booth. A half-finished Grand Slam sat toward the center of his table, pushed there to idle while Chris sighed and used a coffee stir to spin the melting cubes of ice floating in his glass of water. His other hand lingered in the pocket of his jacket, fingers wrapped around his cell. He pondered calling his wife and chatting about whatever came up, maybe asking her to let him talk to Ash for a minute, but no. It was late and he didn't want to wake them just because he was feeling a bit down.
Chris lifted his glass for a sip when the phone vibrated. Surprised, he swallowed quick and tugged his phone out, getting to his ear before it switched to an actual ringtone and annoyed other people. "Hello?"
6. [fandom: wrestling]
And so his task was set. Eric eyed Bobby blithely ignoring him in favor of his conversation with whoever it was on the other end of the line. Stupid phone.
As his mind calculated the probabilities of any one comment winning him back Bobby's attention, Eric leaned forward against the edge of the table. He had his arms folded in front of him, hands overlapping. With one finger, Eric tapped the back of the hand beneath it.
"Hey, Bobby, could you pass the salt?"
Nothing. Level One Annoyance hadn't worked. Time for Level Two.
"Bobby? Did you know that Petey used your underwear as a snot rag last night?"
Again, nothing.
"While you were wearing them?"
Eric decided he couldn't count the flip of curls as a response. This was going to take the heavy artillery. Eric reached across to grab Bobby's free hand and wove their fingers together. He then leaned across the table, lowering his voice and adding a slight waver.
"Bobby? I'm pregnant."
Bobby blinked and was suddenly staring at him as if pained. "...what?"
A grin spread across Eric's face. Success. "Coach wants us upstairs for a meeting."
7. [fandom: wrestling]
"I can still see you." It seemed with every syllable the strange voice grew huskier, rasping over the words.
Traci was yet again tempted to set the phone back down on the cradle. She felt like she was in the middle of a bad horror movie. "Who is this?"
"You're standing in the middle of the kitchen," the voice continued without acknowledging her question. "Wearing a pair of lacy panties and nothing else. And your large, bountiful breasts are feeling all alone, just waiting for-"
"Oh my God," Traci groaned. "Michael Shane, you are a horrible person. I hate you and never want to talk to you again. Ever." She hung up and waited for another call with her apology. It was childish, but it worked.
The phone rang from its spot on the wall after a few seconds. Traci waited until it had gone a good long count, then picked up one more time. "Ready to apologize?"
"You shouldn't have hung up on me, Traci."
It was the same growling voice. Definitely not Michael. A small chill traced down Traci's spine. "Look, I don't know who you are, but this isn't funny."
8. [fandom: wrestling]
The sun was rising over the eastern horizon, like it always did, splashing the pale morning sky with all the expected colors. Peach ice cream, blush chablis, and Irish cream fading upward into robin's egg above the distant mountains and the edges of the forest. Andy was disappointed that he had to witness it alone - normally, this event was a two person deal. A last second schedule change had made it a no-go, though.
He slumped against the rough bark hide of a withered old oak, more branches above him bare than leafing this year, the last shadows of a summer night lingering beneath them. His thin cotton t-shirt did nothing to fight off the slight chill, but he didn't care. His knees drawn up and spread boyishly, Andy had his arms rested in the crook created between the flat expanse of his belly and his thighs. His hands hung loose between his legs, hands cupping the hard plastic cell phone he'd brought out with him.
If Chase didn't call before the first brilliant streamer of sunlight exploded over the mountaintops, he was going to be the one to do the dialing.
9. [fandom: wrestling]
A hush fell as James lined up a shot on the green felt. It was like a round of golf, everyone quiet until the player had taken his swing. A smooth forward thrust sent the maroon-striped ball into a far corner pocket. With a smirk and a cocky tilt of his head, James edged his way around the table.
"I gotcha, Lance. Eight ball," he said, point with the tip of his cue, "bounced off the rails here, here, and here, straight into the left side middle pocket, nothin' but net."
Lance snorted and shook his head, hands gripping the thinning end of his own cue, the butt settled between his feet on the ground. "Just shoot, Cowboy. I want my new .mp3 player, already."
"I think you're miscountin' your chickens," James laughed, carefully lining up the new shot.
Then, as his cue struck the white ball, his phone buzzed, vibrating right against his crotch. The eight ball was missed completely. "Shit!"
"Told you, James," Harris chuckled from a barstool behind him, a rustle of cloth the telltale sign of him putting away his own cell phone. "Never in the front pocket."
James turned a glare on him.
10. [fandom: invader zim]
The phone rang in the kitchen. Gaz ignored it in favor of her Game-Slave 2. However, the phone was not so easily put off. Before long, Gaz decided that Dib wasn't going to rush to answer it. She set her game down on her lap, left eye twitching. "This had better be good."
Sliding off the couch, Gaz took the G-S2 and played more as she shuffled into the kitchen toward the phone. Only when she had closed in it did she set the portable game system aside, leaving it on the edge of the counter as she reached for the receiver on the wall.
"Hello?" she grumbled.
"GAZ! I need your help!"
It was Dib. The mystery of his not answering the phone was solved. "You're wasting my time."
"It's Zim! He's trying to destroy the Earth!"
"Again?"
"He's going to use a giant robot to make a massive bowl of strawberry Jell-O to create an earthquake like the world has never seen! We've got to stop him!"
"That's stupid."
She hung up and reached for her G-S2, only to stop when the phone rang again.