So, it turned out that Birgit lived in what amounted to a mansion.
Well, that was an exaggeration. Still, considering this was supposedly a temporary house, it was massive for what it was meant to be. Out in the suburbs, it had two floors and a basement, and I was pretty sure her bedroom was as big as my living room. It was frankly a tad intimidating.
She had a queen sized bed, a large desk with a PC screen so big, it had to have been a TV screen at some point, a couple of pictures with her brother and people I didn’t recognize, as well as three trophies and a golden dog statue on a shelf. She also had a door that led to a balcony, where she was standing when I got there.
“You’re early,” she said, surprise evident in her voice.
“You told me eight, the bus arrived a little early,” I said, fiddling with my gloves and looking around. My eyes landed on the trophy shelf, and the dog statue on it. It had an inscription on it, but I couldn’t make out what it said as it was in Danish.
“Jeg elskede dig hele dit liv, og jeg vil savne dig resten af mit liv.” Birgit walked forward and tenderly touched the statue. “It’s a message of love for Freja, my old pet. I grew up with her and she recently passed.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said after a few moments of silence. I wasn’t good at comforting people, but Birgit smiled slightly at that, so I could only hope it actually worked. She walked past me and sat on her desk, booting the PC up.
“We aren’t here to get teary eyed though, are we?” asked Birgit.
“No we are not,” I said, unable to stop the smile that dominated my face.
“Good, because I have ordered snacks galore and they should be arriving any minute now,” she said before turning around and shooting me a look that literally made the temperature drop a few degrees. “And don’t you dare try to pay.”
I put my hands up in surrender. “I won’t, I won’t, I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Then there’s only one question left,” she said, shooting me a smirk. “Alexander Adamos.”
I smirked back at her. “Birgit Stine Paulsen.”
“Are you ready to rumble?” we asked at the same time, acting like announcers hyping up the audience. The snacks Birgit had ordered arrived shortly thereafter, and we got straight to it. She snuggled to my side with a bowl full of popcorn near her chest while I had chips on my other side.
And then the main event began.
Match after match of the WPW came and went. We cheered, we argued, and we enjoyed the sheer chaos of it all.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Ladies & gentlemen,” said the announcer for about the tenth time. “Welcome to the main event of the evening! Here, in the United States Capital, the largest battle in World Power Wrestling History, two undefeated powerhouses shall compete for the title of champioooooooooon!”
The crowd on the screen cheered and so did we–Birgit would later accuse me of rubbing some dorkiness off on her–as the two wrestlers made their entrances.
On one side, deadly silent, deadly powerful, deadly in all ways without actually having killed anyone, was the Mortician. His massive build, dressed in black heavy boots with black pants and tank top as well as extremely long hair, he stepped into the ring and it actually shook.
On the other side was The Boulder, who was loud and boisterous. He riled up the crowd as he came in, one of the few wrestlers to actually match the Mortician’s sheer size, and also one of the few that was able to look at him without even the tiniest hint of stress in his eyes, even for the sake of the show.
“Listen here, boy,” said the Boulder as he got right up in Mortician’s face and said loudly.. “This isn’t a regular match. And this isn’t a regular ring. We’re in Hell’s Kitchen, and I’m Gordon Ramsay.”
Some of the crowd cheered, some booed, and I had to use all of my willpower not to let my inner fanboy out at that moment and scream like a crazy man. The Mortician, who was slightly taller than Boulder, looked down at him with a sneer.
“You are confident, but it does not matter,” he said in his deep voice. “In the end, you’re just another man I will send through the Gates of Hell.” A similar reaction came from the crowd, followed by the referee pulling them apart and sending them to their corners.
The Boulder, whose power allowed him to cover his body in a stone nearly as hard as steel, covered his arms in the material.
The Mortician meanwhile, who had enhanced strength, merely looked at his opponent until the referee gave the signal for the fight to begin.
But just as the ref brought his arm down and blew his whistle, Birgit’s phone started ringing. “For fanden da også, telefon,” said Birgit as she got up to see who it was. She rolled her eyes when she saw the caller and paused the show. She picked it up and started speaking in Danish.
I spent the next two minutes watching her pace back and forth as she spoke. She sounded more upset by the second, until whoever was on the other side told her something that made her stop. She turned, eyes wide as saucers, and looked at me. I stood up and she seemed to say something to the extent of goodbye because she closed the phone right afterwards.
“Birgit,” I said slowly, “is everything alright?”
She grabbed my hands with her own, intertwining our fingers as she looked up at me. “Kæreste, I want you to stay calm.”
“What did you call me?” I asked with a small smile.
“That’s not what’s important, you idiot.”
My smile disappeared. “Birgit, seriously, is something wrong? Did-”
“It’s the entrance exams. The results are out.”