#rr 2024.

[moneywalk-a]

the smoke settles, the buzz dies, and roman stands at an impasse. that tall, unfortunate place with a view muddied by a now uncertain future. uncertain for the route he wants to take to an outcome that should be guaranteed. should be ; but isn't. can't shift into the light without turning his stomach. making the ache between his shoulder blades more obvious. more pronounced. to a point where this feels unwise. the strides that bring him to an unmarked room. the last place a nosy eyed technician had seen him.

damian isn't a hard man to find. he keeps to shadows but the shadows never change. a constant roman skirted, once. shined a light into for want not to squint. it's funny how he's adjusted. doesn't so much as lower his head when the threshold is passed and the electricity of a boiling temper swallows him in the quiet of the room. not the hot rage roman breeds, something cold.. numbing

" thought you had it for a minute there, " it isn't goading. months have passed since the last time roman threw pot - shots his way. kicked him while he was down. this tone is passive. it's a slow stride around the furniture he doesn't sit in, dim lighting catching off the gold strapped 'round his waist. " look, why don't you make this easy for me for once and lemme know if 'm wastin' my time. " barking up a tree without limbs to climb. " cause i'mma leave, you in some kinda mood. "

POST ROYAL RUMBLE STARTER CALL

[moneywalk-a]

the start, the finish, they come and go and one consistent remains. no matter the tightness 'cross his shoulders or an adopted limp he nurses with careful steps, roman walks a familiar path. parts the curtains. enters into the guts of an arena he'll loiter in if only to see the outcome of what ought not fester for long. beneath him. a clenched jaw and a casual stride, he covers distance as quick as he chooses. listens to the crowd that still shouts in response. approval or not, noise is noise. rolls like the tiny beads of sweat down the curve of his spine. tickles into a beard already stroked back into place.

paul is a shadow accepted when others are shooed. he sings praise roman nods along to. swears this will never end. not till he ends it. short mutters agree. parrot. a growl of affirmation and another corner is rounded.

microphones can be swatted. he's shouldered more than one prodding official and waved off the frantic hands of a medic he doesn't need. there's an echo that tells him they're unworthy. there's a wiseman that tells him he's untouchable.

and then there's her.

a sight that brings pause to his steps, but doesn't stop them outright. karen's poised, back against the wall, leant near enough his locker room to know she's there for him. to ask questions or—— " uh uh, i ain't about to pull an interview right now. " with labored breaths, his chest hot from exertion, roman finishes his approach, surpasses her, and reaches for a handle that turns in eager welcome. " roll up outta here baby girl. i don't have nothin' for you. "

POST ROYAL RUMBLE STARTER CALL

[moneywalk-a]

he can't focus. there's a broadening rift between roman and the now, one where fingers twitch, tapping restless over a knee, his chin, each other. one that keeps his neck stiff and his back at a forward arch, shielding the championship still sat, stroked, in his lap. through the consoling words of a wiseman who'd had wisdom enough to escort his yapping cousin from behind a sofa he can't stomach the sink of, anymore. shouldn't have to start. showered and sore, roman knew better than to idle. could taste his own disappointment long before it'd come.

there's a bedroom waiting for him. egyptian cotton and wide for a king. the kind that smelt ever more familiar for the man he'd find inside of it. kept at an arm's reach from this arena, obedient in spite of himself. mox'd never been the type to blow up a phone. wouldn't call or text. he was patient. and not for the first time, roman elected to test that patience. let it linger and teeter till the rise of his body lacked expected tension and the short drive downtown doesn't make him gag.

home has many meanings. he acknowledges this one for the roof over his head, though it's not the one he seeks out with dark, unfocused eyes.

" your ass best not already be in bed ! " shouted, it bounds off marble and the white walls of a living room what spills into a kitchen surprisingly quiet. no longer littered with the empty bottled evidence of an occupant that has never been the sort to greet him at the door, arms open and mouth pliant. time hasn't changed everything, after all. " jon ! "

POST ROYAL RUMBLE STARTER CALL