“Oh my God.” Seth replied, as he put his hand over his face. Literally sighing in a mixture of shock and frustration. “You’re me? I seriously forgot how much of a BITCH I used to be, guessing I just zoned all of that out.” Seth tilted his head slightly, as he went about responding to his former self again. “Maybe that’s what a TITLE does to you, see. You haven’t seen the success yet, because you’re still playing fiddle to those losers right? Have you turned on Dean and Roman yet? Come on, be honest with me. Or better yet, be honest with YOURSELF.“
He found himself narrowing his eyes, taking in everything the other version of himself was saying. His heart rose when he heard the word title, thrilled with the fact that he`s going to be a champion. But then it fell like a heavy thud in his stomach when this other version of … not himself, no, never – called his brothers, the people would spend the rest of time with, losers. He blinks, shaking his head before his upper lip curls into a silent snarl. “You actually believe the words you’re saying?” His head tilts, his heart pounds.
Seth narrowed his eyes at the other, upon hearing him question what the show was. Okay, so he was playing stupid? His funeral, Seth wasn’t going to mess around today. He wasn’t usually one for games anyway, but today. His mood was more foul than ever. “Stick in my ass? Who in the hell do you think you are talking to?” Pointing his finger at him, frustration lacing his tone. “Who are you? And what do you FUCKING want?“
He finds himself letting out a grow, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms across his chest with a scowl. “I’m pretty sure I’m talkin’ to myself, but from the damn fuckin’ future,” he responds with a snarl, stepping close and pushing the other man away. “I want to know why you look like you have a fucking stick up your ass.” He finishes, eyes narrowed into slits.
He had seen stuff in his time, being a professional wrestler it comes with the job. But none of that shit, can be as weird as this. The man before him, is a spitting image of himself before he made his fatal decision. So pure, so full of love for his brethren. Maybe there’s a sense of regret in him, maybe. Instead he opts to cross his head and narrows his eyes at the other. “This is a joke right? I’m on Swerved right now, someone is going to come out and tell me this is a set up!“
He frowned, his eyebrows scrunching up as he listened to the similar mirror image of himself in front of him. “What’s Swerved?” He asks before shaking his head, “That doesn’t matter! Why would this be a joke? Why do you think I’m joking? You’re the one tat looks like me but with a stick up his damn ass!”
He’s scared, not like he’ll ever admit it. It doesn’t matter though, because the person in front of him is clearly himself, so he’d know what he was feeling. The man in front of him scares him, though. The way his hair is pressed back into a neat bun, how he’s in a suit just like those fuckin’ Authority goons. Yeah, he’s scared. He’ll admit it to himself, and the person in front of him, but to no one else – no fucking way. “What the fuck happened to us?” He questions, eyes wide in disgust.
