"Holy shit!" Felony's mouth is agape as she mutters aloud while inspecting the contents of the well stock refrigerator. Four racks are loaded to capacity with food, each rack organized around a specific kind of food with meats on the bottom, the raw chicken seperated from the red and other white meats. The third row is dedicated to fruits and vegetables while the second is home to desserts, various condiments and toppings while the top rack houses numerous sealed containers of leftovers. Closing the main door she notices a second, cabinet-like door which runs the length of the appliance and peering inside she sees that it is fully stock, from top to bottom with more than a dozen cases of Budweiser Light beer. "Drink much?" she mumbles while shutting the door. Looking to the left she sees another door, similar to the one she has just closed and a quick peek inside tells her that it is the freezer and, like every other compartment it is fully stocked and well organized with frozen goods, ice cubes and a bag of exotic looking, perfectly round and many times more dense than a typical ice cube; Japanese ice balls, used for specialty cocktails she reasons. She closes the door with a furrowed brow, "They have enough to feed a platoon in here," she muses. "Why would they go shopping right before doing this wife swap thing any way?"
Pulling away from the fridge she steps into the edge of the hallway leading into the living room.
"Hey Scotty, what's the deal with all of this food?" she asks. "What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Damn you're dumb girl!" he bellows. "You cook it for me, that's my damned dinner! Now stop pestering me, this is an important commercial".
"All of it?" She turns perplexed back into the kitchen and opens the door once more. "How the hell can he keep SCW running with a food bill like this?" She starts making mental notes of the contents; Asparagus, spinach, peas, carrots but quickly gives up upon realizing that that is only partial contents of the door, forget about the fridge itself. "Damn what a pig!"
"Fel..," Scott's booming voice reverberates through the house and snaps Felony from her reverie. "You'd better get started with my dinner, it's the most important meal of the day next to breakfast and lunch, and cook it right!"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she demands. "It'll take me six weeks to cook all of this crap and besides, I can't cook, I order out every night".
"Then you better learn and learn quick, I'm getting hungry!"
"Ugh!" shutting the door once more she turns and slams her hands down atop the dining tabgle in frustration. Being born into a wealthy family Felony has never had to cook a day in her life, nor has she ever felt the desire or inclination to do so. Now here she is, the participant of a reality television show and contracted to follow the household rules. "Christian's note did say everything". But how can she be expected to cook such a massive amount of food in so little time? Her mind screeches around the corner of the question and steers into a train of thought. She is not allowed to have friends and family present to assist her, but they say nothing of assisting her over the phone. "That's it!" she cries, snapping her fingers.
"Please be home" she mumbles while picking up the phone. She cradles it between her shoulder and cheek while opening the door to the refrigerator. She busies herself by grabbing armloads of food and dumping it onto the table and counter as the other end is picked up. Maggie, her father's head housekeeper answers. "Hi Maggie it's me. Listen, I'm in a jam here and I need your help", she pauses to resume emptying the fridge while Maggie speaks on the other end, asking what is it that she is in need of. "I need you to teach me to cook over the phone", Felony answers. Another pause ensues as the other end of the line erupts into peals of laughter. Pulling the phone away, Felony looks on in annoyance until the laughter subsides. "I'm serious!" she cries. "I need to learn how to cook like right now!" Another bout of unmitigated laughter is experienced prompting Felony to pull the phone away and set it down on the table, atop a frozen turkey. She unloads another couple armloads of food before the laughter subsides. Picking it back up she snaps angrily into it, "Look, are you gonna make me cry?" she demands. "You know how Uncle Guido gets when I cry, now are you going to help me or not?"
Listening intently as Maggie concedes to her unusual demands and begins giving preliminary instructions, Felony turns to the gleaming white electric stove and frowns.
"Uhh.., I don't know what type of stove this is," she says sheepishly. "Hey, the only times I've ever been in a kitchen was to bother you for cake or ice cream or something". She goes silent as Maggie begins to explain the process of preparing food, interrupting only once, "This is gonna suck isn't it?"
In 1954 a young Princeton University doctoral candidate named Hugh Everett III came up with a radical idea: That there exist parallel universes, exactly like our Âuniverse. These universes are all related to ours; indeed, they branch off from ours, and our universe is branched off of others. Within these parallel universes, our wars have had different outcomes than the ones we know. Species that are extinct in our universe have evolved and adapted in others. In other universes, we humans may have become extinct. Of course the possibility of duplicate lives within such universes also exists with copies of each of us, doing the same things at the same time. Some actions may have predictable outcomes while others could lead to any number of alternate scenarios. Unless your name is Christian Underwood.
They say it takes approximately three weeks to form a habit so one could easily predict the outcome of habits more than 15 years in the making.
With a huff, Christian sets the eighth and final bag of groceries on the counter top and busily rummages through his now ransacked former kitchen in search of cooking utensils. He sets aside a baking tray, a spatula, bowl, whisk and several other pieces of ware and hastily fumbles through the bags in search of ingredients so that he may begin in earnest. Although he is contractually obliged to follow the house rules laid down by his host's departed spouse or significant other he reasons that the lack of house rules leaves him free to do as he may. Old habits die hard.
Rock Rose remains seated in the ratty leather recliner, her gaze firmly transfixed on the sporting event happening on screen, a high school football game between Rancho and J.D. Smith. With a gulp she empties the can of light beer in her right hand and crushes it before tossing the waste into a bin near the corner. She appears not to notice Felony's little ankle biter busying himself on the paper laid out for him and instead reaches between her legs, beneath the chair and pulls out a baseball catcher's mitt which she slips on her hand. She turns around to face the kitchen with a belch..,
"I need a beer!" she bellows."
Dutifully, Christian slides the tray of dough into the oven, wipes his hands and proceeds to the fridge. He takes a can of beer, opens it and snags a napkin from the breakfast bar cum counter and then calmly walks it to Rose in the living room setting it down in front of her atop the improvised coaster.
"What the hell is this?" Rosie demands, staring at the beer. "I asked for a beer".
"And I gave you a beer," Christian remarks.
"Yeah but.., you opened it, and even set it on a coaster". As much alike as she may be to Christian's partner Scott Schriener Rock Rose has yet to acclimatize to the difference between their partners. Christian appears dutiful, and quiet, content to do his chores without complaint whereas she had grown used to Felony's lack of appreciation for her thunderous demands and her often violent reactions, such as throwing the beer at her as if it were a baseball hence the glove. She lifts the beer into her hands and closely inspects it for the foam she has grown used to after opening a can pitched by Felony only to find none. Taking a swig she exhales with a satisfied smirk. "Nice, this tastes better than Felony's beer". leaning back into the chair she stretches out to enjoy the game on television. "I can get used to this".
Christian excuses himself quietly and returns to his duties in the kitchen. Expertly he crackes a pair of eggs with one hand and pours them into a bowl of batter while turning to attend a sizzling skillet where he flips over four pieces of fish with a spatula before checking on the muffins cooking in the oven. Next he empties a bag of fresh string beans into a pot and fills it halfway with water before setting it down on the stove.
"Felony.., beer!"
Without turning his head Scott continues to watch the high school football game, unaware of the projectile hurtling across the house towards him where it strikes him in the back of the head with a heavy thud and then falls to the floor.
"Oww!" he cries, rubbing his head. "Whatcha do that for? I asked politely!"
"In case you've forgotten I'm busy," she fires back wiping the blood stains off of her hands onto a pink apron sporting kittens at play with Christian's name embroidered across the chest. "Just pop the top slowly and let the fizz die down before you open it all the way".
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Smoke billows from the oven in thick, rolling plumes. Felony, alarmed by the acrid smell immediately drops a frying pan onto the varnished wooden floor allowing the hamburger and accompanying grease to spill onto the deck while she opens the oven door. She is greeted by a blast of hot air carrying the smell of thoroughly burned fish sticks. The edge of the baking pan burns her hands even through the oven mitts and causes her to drop the tray allowing the hardened black fish sticks to join the unformed lump of burger and grease. Panic begins to set in as a pot of cabbage starts to boil over, the water rising to the rim of the pan as a churning foam and flowing over the side, sizzling against the red hot stove burner. Turning abruptly to attend the pot of shrunken, shriveled cabbage she inadvertently knocks a ceramic pitcher of flour onto the floor.
"Shit!"
Hastily she grabs a broom and dustpan and begins to sweep up the mess but the boiling cabbage continues to steam and sizzle as the foam rolls over the side of the pot and onto the burner. Dropping the broom she grabs the pot by the handle and dumps it into the sink where it joins additional food items being temporarily stored. At first she stop to consider cleaning the sink but remembers the flour spilled on the floor. Spinning around she reaches for the broom only to be interrupted by Scotty's booming voice..,
"Felony, Genie's hungry!"
"Who the hell is Genie?"
"The cat, dumbass! Feed her!"
"Fine, fine.., where's the cat food?"
"Under the sink, remember to cook it, she won't eat it otherwise".
"Would her majesty like some scalloped potatoes with that?" She asks sarcastically.
"Shut up and cook her dinner! And hurry up with mine! Oh, and lay out my gym clothes, I gotta go work dinner off after I eat".
"You've got to be kidding me," she mutters as her hands slap her thighs in exasperation. Kneeling down she pulls out a can of Fancy Feast cat food which she slams into the microwave, setting it on high before heading into the bedroom.
Looking into the closet she scans the assortment of clothes hanging, all of them neatly pressed and arranged by color. She absently selects a pair of red sweat pants and a lilac tank top cut to expose the midriff. She fails to notice the bold red letter "C" on the hanger and tosses the clothes onto the bed. On her way out she stops the dresser and fumbles through for a pair of socks and, selecting a pair of black men's dress socks she tosses them onto the pile of clothing. Leaving the bedroom she stops by the bathroom where Scott had left the sink faucet running and starts to turn it off just as a loud crackling is heard emanating from the kitchen. The sound, much like a live wire on the loose echoes through the house prompting Scotty to alert her to the problem in his own inimitable manner..,
"Felony, something's about to blow up.., fix it!"
"How the hell does Christian manage to keep up with all of this?" She mutters while wandering back into the kitchen.
Upon reentering the kitchen she is greeted by a light show being put on by the microwave as she had forgotten to remove the cat food from the metal can before heating it up. The can, being electromagnetically conductive results in a build up of electrons within the electromagnetic field which begin to arc from the can and back to the electromagnetic transmitter which demonstrates its displeasure in the form of a miniature lightning storm. Felony quickly turns the unit off but it is too late; the cat food has been burned and the microwave oven sits in a deathly silence. She tries to turn it back on but nothing happens as the transmitter has been shorted out. With a groan she slaps her forehead in dismay as the fire alarm goes off throughout the house. The piercing wail rips through her thoughts and slashes into her consciousness.
"Damn it, what now?"
"Felony.., the house is burning down, put it out!"
THREE HOURS LATER...
Felony looks on over the mountain of food threatening to buckle the overwhelmed table. Turkey, chicken, filet mignonette, spinach, baby carrots, asparagus, apples, oranges, bananas, pancakes, cupcakes, ice cream, pork chops, sauteed mushrooms, mashed potatoes and much, much more sit in a smoldering ruin, the charred tincture fulminating through the otherwise crisp evening air. Glancing at the sink she takes in the reward for all of her effort, several dozen charred, cracked and filthy dishes including pots, pans, bowls, plates, forks and knives. Plodding to the refrigerator she opens the door and peeks in to ensure that she hasn't forgotten anything but the surprisingly unharmed appliance is completely bare. Satisfied she slams the door shut sticks her head into the hall..,
"Scotty.., dinner's ready!"
"It's about damned time! I thought I was gonna die out here".
"Holy crap, this is good!" Rock Rose says in between bites of cubed steak. "Where did you order this from? I need to call these guys more often".
"I cooked it myself," Christian says taking a seat at the table across from her.
"That's impossible!" Rosie challenges. "If people could cook like this restaurants would go out of business".
"I'll take that as a compliment," Christian says stabbing a pile of string beans with his fork. "I cook for Scotty every night. Hell, I've been cooking my entire life. I've even taken classes on it". Stuffing the greens into his mouth he chews it down and then chases it with a sip of water before continuing, "I've been meaning to ask, why don't you guys have any food in here?"
"Felony says she can't cook", Rosie deadpans before turning her attention to the side of brown rice. "I never really questioned her about it so we just order takeout all the time. But now..," she stuffs her mouth with a fork full of rice. "I'm gonna make sure she takes some lessons when she gets back. This is too good to give up".
"Glad you like it," Christian says sporting a brief smile. "I'm also glad you two don't have any house rules. I don't have to change anything up, makes it easy for me".
"Well don't get complacent," Rose says sternly. "Tomorrow I have to start training for our tag team match against The Fallen and I need you to help me".
"Why would you need my help?" Christian asks in between bites of steak. "If anybody is capable of training themselves I'd think it would be you. I figured you trained Felony as well so I can't imagine what kind of help I could offer".
"Resistance," Rose answers in a word. "I use Felony's body weight for added resistance during my training and since she's not here..,"
"You intend to use my body weight as a substitute," he says finishing her sentence. "Why not?" he shrugs. "Scotty does the same thing".
"Good, now get me another piece of steak".
Christian rises from the table, grabbing Rosie's plate and shuffles over to the counter where extra slabs of steak sit beneath a polished aluminum plate cover. His mind wanders while he re-packs the plate marveling over the astonishing similarities between His and Felony's partners. Rose, like Scott is demanding, lazy, assertive and very vocal. She seems every bit as selfish as his own partner of more than ten years, and just as hungry. He can't help but to feel fortunate to have swapped for a partner as much alike. Thus far he hasn't had to change a thing, the entire experience up to this point has been plug and play for him. Is Felony's experience as easy for her as this is for him?
"Damn it, what's the hold up?" Rosie booms in a cacophonous demand. "I'm wasting away here!"
"Sorry," he says with a smirk. "I was just thinking". He sets the plate back down in front of her and watches as she delves into it with renewed vigor.
"About what?" she asks with a mouth full of food.
"I was just wondering how Scotty is getting along with Felony".
"I don't believe it!" His voice redounds about the house, echoing off of the walls and assaulting Felony's ears with a heavy barrage. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you ruin $4,000 worth of groceries and burn the kitchen down in the process! Who the hell taught you to cook? I'm a man damn it, I need food! How can you expect me to eat tinder? I need beef! I need protein! I need..,"
"You need to shut the hell up and listen to me you over bearing, muscle headed..,"
"I need fuel!" Though she had tried to interject Scott would have none of it and continues his lusty cannonade. "Do you think this pump is gonna just stay this way?" He pauses for a moment to flex his right bicep before continuing, "It needs nutrients, complex carbohydrates, aminos, iron, zinc, magnesium..,"
Though she desperately wanted to engage him in a shouting match Felony recognized that she would be severely over matched by the vociferous strong man and instead tries to tune him, sending her mind riding along a wave of rolling thoughts of violence. A series of images splash against the walls of her mind; she strangles Scott against the corner with her bare hands, reveling in the asphyxiation of the loud mouthed behemoth, his hands desperately clinging to her arms trying to break free. But she would not allow it, nor would she stop until even his very last breath has capitulated. But even the sanctity of her own mind could be invaded as is the case with Scott's obstreperous peal.
"Are you trying to starve me, you dumb blonde? Did you bother to think of my poor defenseless pump? What'll happen to my pump if I starve, did that even enter your pea-like little brain before you up and decided to starve me? Why the hell are you trying to starve me in the first place, I never did anything to you! Are you suggesting that I'm fat, do you think I need to loose weight? What the hell is wrong with you..?"
With no end in sight to the full-mouthed incursion Felony elects to play her final card. Burying her face in her hands she slumps to the floor and brings her knees to her chest. Plopping her hand against them she starts to sob; a slow sob at first. But she conjures up images in her mind, long forgotten bad memories to aid in her efforts until the sobbing is picked up by a tide of manufactured emotional pain and discharges into a full fledged wail. Her body now trembles to enhance the effect but Scott rambles on..,
"I don't even own a scale and do you know why? Because my pump tells me how much to eat, not some stupid, brainless..,Wait a minute..," his voice gratefully trails off into silence as he notices Felony crumpled on the floor crying. "Why the hell are you crying? If anybody should be crying it should be me!"
A bear though he may be, even Scott is not immune to the hole card employed by women, and even Christian, the world over. His anger slowly begins to subside as an upsurge of concern seeps in, drowning his indignation. Dropping to one knee he gently cradles the quivering blonde's face in his hand and looks into her tear laden eyes. With his left hand he reaches out, swiping away an errant tear from her cheek, breathing in a repentant sigh.
"Felony, honey I'm sorry," he says softly. "It's just that I worry about my pump you know? It's young and still growing and I get a little carried away. Hey..," he takes her face into both hands while trying to sooth her anxiety with a delicate tone. "It's not your fault you can't cook. We all have things that we can't do. Hell, I can't swim so even though we have a pool in the back you won't catch me anywhere near it. Look.., we'll just order takeout, ok?" He looks on as Felony bobs her head swiping at another tear and forces a tiny smile at the corner of her mouth and then takes her hands into his, pulling her to her feet. "That's my girl," he smiles, running the backside of his hand along her feathery sun kissed tresses. "Just forget about the mess, I'll make Christian clean it up when he gets back".
Following Scott into the living room leaving Pompeii in her wake, Felony clinches a fist in triumph, her feet slipping into a subtle dance, happy with her performance in the den of the polar bear. Men will never learn.
Can't be touched
Can't be stopped
Can't be moved
Can't be rocked
Can't be shook
We hot
When will you niggaz learn
Came to get crunk
Came to bring life
Came to get it started
Came to get it right
Turn down the music
Turn up my mics
When will you niggaz learn
The spirited inflection of the Roy Jones Jr vocals pumps an unseen energy throughout the sweaty, cold gymnasium, invigorating a pair of heavyset women to boost their pace on the treadmill. An athletic looking 20 something young man gets into the groove, adding weight to the pec deck exercise machine and engaging it with a loud grunt. A personal trainer oversees a hefty young man into bumping his pace as his arms employ a pair of 20 foot long battle ropes, swinging them up and down in a synchronized effort. A trim young brunette puts the finishing touched on a set of burpees and breaks into an impromptu dance. Rochelle "Rock" Rose meanwhile adjusts the volume on her ipod docked radio and begins to warm up by jogging in place.
"There we go," she mutters while reaching behind to grab her right ankle, pulling the leg back and stretching the hamstring. "It's go time baby! Gonna knock this out of the park!"
"I still don't understand why you need me here," Christian Underwood says, stretching out on a flat bench and looking on while twirling his hair in disinterest. "You're the last person on earth who needs help training".
"I told you," Rosie booms. "You're gonna provide additional resistance".
"Why not just use some of these free weights lying around?" He gestures to a row of dumbbells lined up against the mirrored wall. "I could be out getting a manicure".
"Because I said so, that's why!" she bellows. Reaching for a pair of dumbbells she grasps the cold, heavy iron in each hand and then drops into a push up position. "Now get on my back".
With a sigh Christian rises from the bench and takes a seat on the back of the blonde powerhouse. He extends his hands studying his nails and sighing again wistfully when he is suddenly thrust up as Rosie pushes off of the padded floor, bringing the dumbbells with her and clapping them. Falling back into position Rose pauses for the briefest of moments to allow Christian to saddle himself in more securely before resuming the creative twist on a popular staple of exercise.
"Wow..," he mutters in amazement. "Are you sure you're a woman?"
"Bitch, shut the hell up and hold on! I got a fight to get ready for".
"Gothika and Raynin have no idea what they're in for".
After completing a dozen of the unusual push ups Rose shifts her body sideways allowing Christian to slide off. Immediately she proceeds to a nearby chin up bar and grasps it with an overhanded grip and jumping into a set of pull ups.
"I gotta protect Felony," she grunts in between reps. "Those broads are a couple of snakes and I don't want her getting hurt".
Dropping down from the bar Rock Rose grabs the dumbbells and counts off 15 seconds before resuming the push up position, ignoring the beads of perspiration forming along her brow, her mind steadfastly focused on a single objective..,
"Get back on!" she barks.
"But you just did this a few seconds ago, now you want to do it again?" Christian protests.
"It's called a super set," she offers employing the term used to describe a series of exercises paired together and engaged from one to the next with no rest in between. "After my last match against them I realized how far those two are willing to go and it pissed me off. No way are they gonna try that with me again, now shut your yap and get on".
Christian follows the instruction in silence as Rose proceeds to burn through three more circuits of her pet dumbbell push ups and chin ups. Upon completion of the fourth and final set she bolts to her feet, the sweat now pouring freely down her face as she sets the dumbbells back into their cradles. Darting over to the bench press she loads up the Olympic bar with 45 pound plates and swings her arms in a circular motion, 15 seconds rolling forward and another 15 seconds in reverse. Finally she takes a seat on the bench and lowers her body flat onto it with the bar above her head. She rubs her hands together while firmly gripping the bar, her breathing intensifying as she prepares herself.
"Now it's time for the real workout," she grunts. "When I get through with the Fallen you're gonna be apologizing to them for ever booking 'em in a match with me. Now get your scrawny little ass over here and spot me".
"Umm.., honey you're kind of hard to miss". Sooner or later Christian's infamous tongue was bound to make its presence known and although he had been trying his hardest to keep it under control for the sake of the omnipresent television cameras he sometimes just couldn't help himself.
"Get your ass over here and give me a spot or I'm gonna be bench pressing you!" Rosie roars in annoyance, the verbal thunderclap drawing wide eyed stares from many of the patrons in the gym. "I'm gonna kick your ass as a warm up for Raynin and Gothika".
"Gothika has got you pinned Felony, what're you gonna do?"
"Unnngh!" Try as she may Felony is unable to lift her body off of the floor. Her arms tremble under the strain of trying to push her body up in addition to Scott's 285 frame seated on her back. "I can't breathe!" she huffs.
"Just pretend that she has you in a bear hug," the big man advises. "You have to get out before she pins you, now push!"
Following his verbal accosting of her over the spectacular failure that should have been dinner and reducing the slender blonde to tears pangs of guilt had been tugging away at Scotty's thoughts until, over a meal of Wong Fai Hung take out Chinese noodles and an old horror film on television he decided to make it up to her by personally training her for the Freakette's match against the Fallen. Unfortunately for her, his idea of training has proven to be less than suitable for her desperately straining body. For more than ten minutes now he sat on her back demanding that she perform push ups using his body weight for additional resistance, and for ten minutes Felony has proven unable to meet his demands. Once again her body slumps beneath his heft in defeat.
"Scotty..," she huffs. "I can't do it. You're too heavy".
"Then you gotta try harder," he challenges. "Raynin and Gothika ain't gonna go easy on you, that's for sure so you have to give it everything you got. I'll bet they're doing the same thing right now now, are you gonna let them out do you or are you going to get down to business?"
"You try doing push ups with a mastodon on your back!"
"Hey, who's training who here?"
Slung helplessly over the grunting man beast's shoulders she digs her nails into his rock hard skin drawing oodles of blood which rain down upon his tired, aching feet. The monster pays no mind to her ebbing talons, his single minded intent focused on climbing the rocks left over from last night's earth quake. She struggles in his metallic grasp, her feet kicking wildly, trying to direct. the point of her one remaining lavender high heeled shoe at his eye. He shrugs it off by swatting her would be deadly weapon to the cold, soft ground, his stride continuing in earnest, he would not be denied his prize after so long. She belonged to him now and he fully intended to take advantage of the fact.
Ignoring the cry of police sirens and the listlessly barking dogs he pumps his legs tirelessly one after the other ascending the makeshift rock pile. Upon reaching a clearing he pauses, turning his gaze upwards into the velvety nighttime sky. Oh how he wanted to sit and count the stars! To relive his childhood, sitting atop a grassy knoll, a cool breeze slamming into his face as he counted them off one by one. Sometimes he could even make out a comet or a meteor. Other times he would simply sit and listen to the birds chirping. But this time is different, he is a wanted man now and could ill afford the luxury of counting the blinking stars.
Christian's eyes are wide as he hurriedly flips to the next page, anxious to delve further into the events unfolding before him. Diving back into the story he is blissfully unaware of the exhausted grunting of Rock Rose, whose shoulders he lies atop of as she climbs several flights of stairs. The still, stale air in the stairwell exacerbates the workout by coaxing out an upsurge in perspiration which she wipes away using Christian's loose fitting denim pants leg.
"Only ten more flights," she says, her huffing and puffing resonating off of the cold concrete walls. "Then we can do wind sprints".
"Oh wow," Christian mutters while turning the page as his body rebounds in sync with Rosie's cadence. "This is good".
"Yeah," she huffs. "I guess it is a pretty good workout. But if you think this is intense, wait'll I get my hands on The Fallen".
Giving up after an hour of intense impetus on the idea of Felony doing push ups while carrying his 285 lbs Scott rises from his seat and ambles towards the Naughtyflex bench press apparatus. While Felony lies motionless face down on the floor he busies himself loading the bar with Olympic 45 pound weight lifting plates. He shoves them onto each side of the bar one after the other until he counts off a total weight of 450 pounds.
"Alright, rest time is over. It's time to do some benching. I figure I'd start you off light on the first set, so we're only gonna do eight reps with 450 pounds".
The blonde remains stationary, her face buried in the floor, failing to heed his words. A drawn out groan slithers wearily through loosely controlled lips, an indicator of acknowledgement.
"Fel..?"
Approaching his victim he gently nudge her body with the tip of his shoe hoping to coerce her into action but the young woman does not budge.
"Dammit Fel, this ain't no time to sleep," He says, picking her up and tossing her onto his beefy shoulder in mild agitation. "Do you want Raynin and Gothika to kick your ass?"
"Let them, they can't hurt me any more than I already am..," she mumbles in a punchy drawl.
"It's called a workout," he grumbles while setting her down on the bench. "It's supposed to hurt".
Karma is a bitch. Although she did not intentionally ruin dinner she simply could not help it having never learned to cook. Her entire young life had been spent in the company of her Uncle Guido's housekeeper who deftly handled that and other chores leaving her free to pursue her own ideas, ideas which had nothing to do with cooking or cleaning, which seems to be the bulk of her Celebrity Wife swap counterpart's life She did however; play on Scott's emotions by pretending to be distraught and crying. She had sought to take control of the situation by defusing the rapidly ticking time bomb that is Scott Schriener's temper. And the ploy worked perfectly, Scott had calmed down and discharged her of cleaning and cooking duties, promising to burden Christian with them instead upon his return, thereby giving her the laid back life she so enjoyed.., or so she thought. Felony did not count on Scott hoping to make it up to her in such a manner. She had envisioned him feeding her or something similar but obviously he had other ideas, ideas she failed to conceive and for which she is now paying the price.
"Alright here we go..," Scott says while stationing himself behind the bench in the spotter's position. "And.., up!"
Felony's arms tremble momentarily as she tries to life them to the bar but her strength gives out and the flop helplessly to her sides.
"Felony you gotta lift the bar!" Scott asserts, reaching down and pulling her arms up and wrapping her fingers around the cold iron bar. "Now.., up!"
Once again her arms tremble in a brief effort before giving out and falling to her side.
"Damn it girl, do you want The Fallen to kick your ass? Lift the damned bar!"
"If they let me sleep, they can kick any part of me they want..,"
