Post by midnightdragon on Feb 1, 2021 13:32:32 GMT -5
Olympia, Washington - January 23rd, 2021 - 2:30pm PST
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[The sound of wine being poured into a glass is heard, as our scene opens to the backdrop of a Mediterranean style living room. Isaac Rosario-Lopez; attired in a midnight black t-shirt, navy blue pants, and black loafers is seated atop a two-seated mauve Lawson sofa, a gentle smile across his face as he continues pouring the Merlot into his Pinot Noir glass. The strains of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture can be heard in the background as the man places the bottle back down atop his mahogany Victorian era coffee table, before screwing the lid back on and allowing the glass to sit there. Leaning back, he allows his feet to softly brush against the snow-white polyester carpeting before a gentle sigh leaves his lips while he glances around, absorbing everything this room has to offer.
For this is the house that he inherited when his father passed away in November at the age of Fifty-nine following a long bout with lung cancer. A fight that Isaac had witnessed every time he had visited his father in the past five years. Whether it was in this very home or at the Providence St. Peter Olympia hospital, where his father would frequently receive radiation therapy and chemo to attempt to ward off his cancer, yet ultimately, it was futile.
Feeling tears beginning to form in his eyes, Isaac looks into the reflection of the glass, remembering the times his father would sit atop the vacant cushion to the right of him and they would simply talk like father and son. Whether it be about Isaac's career, Dad's battle, or just whatever was the 'trending topic' at the time, losing his dad reminded Isaac of how important those moments truly were. Even if those moments had been scarce ever since Isaac moved to Michigan when he was 18 to pursue his career in Martial Arts and Wrestling.
He knows that his father is looking down on him, smiling from the heavens above, even if he would rather Isaac have picked a "less dangerous" career, like a physician or doctor as his mother had been, or even a lawyer like he had been pre-cancer but simply wanted what was best for his youngest son. Much as he had for Isaac's brothers Gustavo and Miguel, who both took the route their father desired. Gustav becoming a lawyer and Miguel following in the steps of his mother to become a doctor.
As Riccardo {his father} would always tell him when he was growing up in Miami: "Your mom and I moved here to ensure you, Miguel and Gustav would have the best opportunities in life,". Something that Isaac is grateful for and appreciative of each day. Raising his right hand, Isaac slowly reaches over; grabs the glass. Swirling it gently so as not to spill it onto the carpet below before taking a sip. Savoring the taste of the wine as it touches his tongue.]
(((Isaac)))"Not a day goes by that I don't miss you, dad. I still can't believe you were taken away." [He murmurs to himself, taking another sip of the wine, hoping that it will at least help to subside the void he feels. The emptiness of knowing that his father won't be walking into the room; sitting down next to him tonight. Or any might ever again.]
[Tears begin to stream down his face, dripping into the glass and creating a gentle splash as they land as he ponders what more could have been done to save his father, even if it was merely for another six months. If anything could have been done. He doesn't blame the doctors and nurses or the hospital for his dad's demise. He knows that they worked diligently around-the-clock to give his dad the best possible chance of survival but ultimately, it wasn't enough. It wasn't ever going to be enough, as, by the time they diagnosed him, his cancer had already obtained such a grip to where even the most aggressive of chemotherapy was done to delay the inevitable.
He could see it in his father's eyes too as the battle continued to take its toll on him. As much of an optimist as he was, even he could not hide the life draining from his eyes. The solemn expressions that came across his face every time the topic of his cancer and the prognosis was bought up. Whether it be Isaac or his brothers who broached the subject.
It's part of the reason why for the six months before his passing, his father would change the subject whenever anyone attempted to discuss it with him. Both family and doctors alike. Isaac respected that wish and knew that talking about it wouldn't be making the most of the limited time his dad had on this earth. Something he wanted to cherish forever. Just as he had when his mom passed away five years ago.]
{{Isaac}} "You told us the family was forever. You told us that someday, we would finally appreciate life for what it is ... you were right. I just hope I can continue making you and mom proud. That the both of you are peaceful in heaven, together." [His lips quivering with each word, he lifts the glass to his lips once more, this time steadily pouring the remaining contents down his throat. Feeling the smooth taste flow through his body. He isn't usually a heavy drinker but today, he had to make an exception as it would have been his mother's fifty-seventh birthday.]
[Leaning forward, he places the glass back atop the table, before raising his right hand to his eyes as a soft laugh emits from his lips, as he thinks about the times his father would often simply place his arm around his shoulders in moments like this. Moments when he allowed his emotions to show and everything would suddenly feel okay. He never knew how his father managed to accomplish it. Just that it always seemed to work, as if it were some kind of magic trick; even if his father isn't here, he can still feel that arm around his shoulder. Comforting him. Telling him that everything will be okay and that he should focus on himself rather than the things that are outside of his control. That he needs to stop dwelling on his death and think about his career. Think about taking that next step and commence diving into the deep end of professional wrestling or professional Martial Arts.
"They're not going to wait for you," he would always tell Isaac whenever they talked about his prospects in the industry, even with his accomplished high school and collegiate background in wrestling. "You need to go out there and take them,". Words that radiate throughout Isaac's thoughts whenever he finds himself conflicted with just what to do. Or how best to pursue the options he has in front of him. No matter how limited those options are currently, due to coronavirus and most companies either operating on a tight budget or not even operating at all.
At least, that is the situation in Michigan, where Isaac currently lives. Every time he has asked around or attempted to inquire about potential openings, he has been rebuffed with "We're on hiatus" or "Sorry, we don't have enough openings" being the primary reasoning. It's been the same whenever he has posed the same questions to Martial Arts promotions or academies which sadly, is to be expected in current times, though it is still disheartening for him. Knowing that even though he is out there posing the questions and putting his name on the market, it isn't reaping any rewards.
Casting another glance at the wine bottle, he mentally deliberates about looking outside of Michigan and identifying a company that has an opening. A place where he can dip his toes into the professional realm of either sport. Whether it be wrestling or martial arts. To him, it doesn't matter which path he takes, just as long as he has the opportunity to succeed. To show the world just what he is capable of. Whether it be in the squared circle or the octagon. To him, it doesn't matter. He knows that he can dominate in both disciplines.
Reclining back against the sofa, he gently closes his eyes. Allowing himself to contemplate the most optimal course of action. Not just for the short-term, but the entirety of his career. For him, this is a decision of where does he want to be when it's all said and done? What legacy does he wish to be remembered for in either Mixed Martial Arts or Professional Wrestling? Does he want to be remembered as a champion? Or just another name?
These are the questions bouncing around in his head, as he allows the docile strains of the 1812 overture to continue floating from the speakers of his radio. He knows that what lays in front of him could be the more important decision of his career. Even more so than his decision to attend Michigan State on a wrestling scholarship in 2017 instead of simply diving into the deep end and joining the professional scene at that time, when he had offers from some of the most prestigious companies. Not just in Michigan, but around the world.
He knew he had the talent to make the jump, but wanted to follow in his family's footsteps by getting a bachelor's degree. Though unlike the rest of his family, he chose to get his bachelor’s in education. Meaning even if he isn't able to find his footing in wrestling or even martial arts, he has something to fall back on. A Plan B. Something that a lot of people tend to neglect when mapping out the path they want to take after high-school, and something his parents were insistent on him having. Just as they were with his brothers. After all, they knew firsthand about the perils of putting all their eggs into one basket. It's what they did when they made the move to America from Honduras when Isaac was two.
They knew there was every possibility that it could fail. That they could have to turn around and head back if they weren't able to find security. If they couldn't get their foot in the doors of either the medical or legal field. Luckily, they were able to accomplish that and build the life they had promised. Not just for Isaac, Gustavo, and Miguel but themselves as well. Feeling himself begin to drift off into a dream, Isaac softly whispers "Thank you," hoping that his mom and dad understand just how much they truly mean to him. Even as they look down from heaven above.]
Olympia, Washington - January 25th, 2021 - 11:25 am PST.
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[Isaac, attired in a snow-white Nike T-shirt, midnight black shorts, and navy blue Nike sneakers is seated atop the same sofa he had two days prior, within the same living room, except this time the docile strains of Vivaldi's masterpiece "The Four Seasons" can be heard throughout the air. Reminiscing about the times he and his father would listen to this violin oriented composition during drives to and from the Seattle airport when Isaac would visit from his residence in Michigan. Times when no words would need to be spoken; they would simply admire one of the best compositions of all time and allow themselves to be immersed within the world it manifested inside of them. Just as Isaac is currently.
Except unlike those drives, Isaac is also glancing down at his slate-colored HP laptop in his endeavors to seek out a promotion to call home. A place where he can truly commence his wrestling or martial arts career, just as he has been these past few days, yet he hasn't had much success. Not for a lack of effort. He's been sending his resume to any company he can find, but is yet to hear back from them or has been told the same story Michigan companies had been. "Sorry, we don't have any space presently" or "We're currently on hiatus". Which he expected, as he understood that he is still "green" to most wrestling companies. That he is still fresh in terms of the industry, regardless of his high-school or collegiate success.
Just like any occupation, it is a completely different animal when you attempt to enter the industry for the first time in a professional sense. You're not just competing against people who are in the same position as you, you also have to convince the company or promotion that they should choose you over people who are more accomplished and have experience that you could only dream of.
"It's a dog-eat-dog world," his father would always tell him. "If you're not willing to be rabid, then you have no chance of succeeding,". Words that have stuck in Isaac's mind ever since he was a child even if he didn't understand what his father meant back then. He fully understands it now. It's why he accepts that people are going to be doing anything within their power to ensure it's them; not him who obtains the spot. That it is them that the company in question, whichever it may be, are willing to hitch themselves to. Just as Isaac is intending on ensuring it is him.
His eyes fixated on the screen, he scans through the list of promotions he had applied to, before noticing out of the corner of his right eye, that he had a new message from an unknown e-mail. A soft smile crosses his face as he uses his right hand to scroll the mouse down to the right corner of the screen; click the message. Popping onto the screen, the first thing that Isaac notices is the letter head. Outlaw Pro Wrestling. A company based out of New Orleans, Louisiana who pride themselves of being the "cutting edge" of the industry. The gold standard. Just as any company likes to pitch themselves as when hiring new talent. It's something that Isaac has picked up while scanning through various advertisements for companies. Both on the mixed martial arts and wrestling side of the spectrum. They've all tried to sell themselves as being the best and having the best talent on their roster. It's how you bring in new talent, after all.
Isaac learned about that during the classes he took at Michigan State in marketing, which was his primary minor to compliment his Education major. Continuing to read through the letter, his face curls into a soft smile when he notices that this isn't just a standard pitch letter, but an acceptance letter. Inofming him that OPW have decided that they see him as the perfect fit for their roster. A fresh face to add to a roster littered with some of the biggest names that this industry has ever had to offer.
Names that have been around the industry for 20+ years; renowned the world over. Names that Isaac idolized as a child and now gets the opportunity to say he worked with them. Even if it is merely in the sense of sharing a locker room, rather than competing in the ring versus them. After all, they are established brands. They are names that are known and revered, whereas he is simply a rookie. A name that is unknown in the professional scene. He knows that and understands that it means people will look at him with trepadition. Will he be another name that comes in hot then simply flames out, or will he stand the test of time? That is not something that he nor anybody else can answer right now, for only time will tell which answer is proven to be correct.
Scrolling the mouse back up, he inhales as he presses the red 'x' button in the top right-hand corner, before pushing his laptop downward gently and mentally preparing himself for what is to come. Both in the sense of inside the ring, and the media component. The side of wrestling that enables him to build a brand beyond winning. A side that enables the fans to get to know him better as a person. Not just another face on their screens. Done in a similar vein to the interviews with celebrities that Television networks love to showcase as a "glimpse inside the life of" whoever it is they broadcast that particular day.
To some, including his brothers, it is an unnecessary invasion of privacy but Isaac realizes that it can also be his greatest tool. A means for him to ensure people realize that what he will stand for in the ring, is rooted in his own personal beliefs.]
{{{Isaac}}} "The more the merrier, I say. If I can even make one person's life better, then it is a net positive." [Whispering these words to himself, he calmly lifts the laptop up; placing it on the edge of the table, in front of his half-full ceramic oriental-themed coffee mug, he ponders those very words.]
[He knows that joining OPW puts him in a position where he can truly impact people's lives. Where even if it is just for a fleeting moment, he can make somebody's day. Whether that be by his actions inside of the ring or his gestures. It all counts at the end of the day and if even one person ultimately comes up to him and states that he helped them. Or that he was their idol, then that would be enough to make him smile. It'd be enough to inform him that it has been worth it. That the blood, the sweat, the tears that come with the industry is worth it. More so than any championship could ever. At the end of the day, that's all he wants to do. Make an impact.
Reclining back in the sofa, he glances to his left at the painting of his father from his younger days back in Honduras. A faded grey portrait that blends in with the slate colored plaster on the walls, save for the few shades of yellow brushed into the background. Symbolic of the future that he desired. Imagining himself in the position of his father, with the yellow resembling the light. The path he wishes to carve for himself within the wrestling industry. A path that awaits him in OPW.]
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[The sound of wine being poured into a glass is heard, as our scene opens to the backdrop of a Mediterranean style living room. Isaac Rosario-Lopez; attired in a midnight black t-shirt, navy blue pants, and black loafers is seated atop a two-seated mauve Lawson sofa, a gentle smile across his face as he continues pouring the Merlot into his Pinot Noir glass. The strains of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture can be heard in the background as the man places the bottle back down atop his mahogany Victorian era coffee table, before screwing the lid back on and allowing the glass to sit there. Leaning back, he allows his feet to softly brush against the snow-white polyester carpeting before a gentle sigh leaves his lips while he glances around, absorbing everything this room has to offer.
For this is the house that he inherited when his father passed away in November at the age of Fifty-nine following a long bout with lung cancer. A fight that Isaac had witnessed every time he had visited his father in the past five years. Whether it was in this very home or at the Providence St. Peter Olympia hospital, where his father would frequently receive radiation therapy and chemo to attempt to ward off his cancer, yet ultimately, it was futile.
Feeling tears beginning to form in his eyes, Isaac looks into the reflection of the glass, remembering the times his father would sit atop the vacant cushion to the right of him and they would simply talk like father and son. Whether it be about Isaac's career, Dad's battle, or just whatever was the 'trending topic' at the time, losing his dad reminded Isaac of how important those moments truly were. Even if those moments had been scarce ever since Isaac moved to Michigan when he was 18 to pursue his career in Martial Arts and Wrestling.
He knows that his father is looking down on him, smiling from the heavens above, even if he would rather Isaac have picked a "less dangerous" career, like a physician or doctor as his mother had been, or even a lawyer like he had been pre-cancer but simply wanted what was best for his youngest son. Much as he had for Isaac's brothers Gustavo and Miguel, who both took the route their father desired. Gustav becoming a lawyer and Miguel following in the steps of his mother to become a doctor.
As Riccardo {his father} would always tell him when he was growing up in Miami: "Your mom and I moved here to ensure you, Miguel and Gustav would have the best opportunities in life,". Something that Isaac is grateful for and appreciative of each day. Raising his right hand, Isaac slowly reaches over; grabs the glass. Swirling it gently so as not to spill it onto the carpet below before taking a sip. Savoring the taste of the wine as it touches his tongue.]
(((Isaac)))"Not a day goes by that I don't miss you, dad. I still can't believe you were taken away." [He murmurs to himself, taking another sip of the wine, hoping that it will at least help to subside the void he feels. The emptiness of knowing that his father won't be walking into the room; sitting down next to him tonight. Or any might ever again.]
[Tears begin to stream down his face, dripping into the glass and creating a gentle splash as they land as he ponders what more could have been done to save his father, even if it was merely for another six months. If anything could have been done. He doesn't blame the doctors and nurses or the hospital for his dad's demise. He knows that they worked diligently around-the-clock to give his dad the best possible chance of survival but ultimately, it wasn't enough. It wasn't ever going to be enough, as, by the time they diagnosed him, his cancer had already obtained such a grip to where even the most aggressive of chemotherapy was done to delay the inevitable.
He could see it in his father's eyes too as the battle continued to take its toll on him. As much of an optimist as he was, even he could not hide the life draining from his eyes. The solemn expressions that came across his face every time the topic of his cancer and the prognosis was bought up. Whether it be Isaac or his brothers who broached the subject.
It's part of the reason why for the six months before his passing, his father would change the subject whenever anyone attempted to discuss it with him. Both family and doctors alike. Isaac respected that wish and knew that talking about it wouldn't be making the most of the limited time his dad had on this earth. Something he wanted to cherish forever. Just as he had when his mom passed away five years ago.]
{{Isaac}} "You told us the family was forever. You told us that someday, we would finally appreciate life for what it is ... you were right. I just hope I can continue making you and mom proud. That the both of you are peaceful in heaven, together." [His lips quivering with each word, he lifts the glass to his lips once more, this time steadily pouring the remaining contents down his throat. Feeling the smooth taste flow through his body. He isn't usually a heavy drinker but today, he had to make an exception as it would have been his mother's fifty-seventh birthday.]
[Leaning forward, he places the glass back atop the table, before raising his right hand to his eyes as a soft laugh emits from his lips, as he thinks about the times his father would often simply place his arm around his shoulders in moments like this. Moments when he allowed his emotions to show and everything would suddenly feel okay. He never knew how his father managed to accomplish it. Just that it always seemed to work, as if it were some kind of magic trick; even if his father isn't here, he can still feel that arm around his shoulder. Comforting him. Telling him that everything will be okay and that he should focus on himself rather than the things that are outside of his control. That he needs to stop dwelling on his death and think about his career. Think about taking that next step and commence diving into the deep end of professional wrestling or professional Martial Arts.
"They're not going to wait for you," he would always tell Isaac whenever they talked about his prospects in the industry, even with his accomplished high school and collegiate background in wrestling. "You need to go out there and take them,". Words that radiate throughout Isaac's thoughts whenever he finds himself conflicted with just what to do. Or how best to pursue the options he has in front of him. No matter how limited those options are currently, due to coronavirus and most companies either operating on a tight budget or not even operating at all.
At least, that is the situation in Michigan, where Isaac currently lives. Every time he has asked around or attempted to inquire about potential openings, he has been rebuffed with "We're on hiatus" or "Sorry, we don't have enough openings" being the primary reasoning. It's been the same whenever he has posed the same questions to Martial Arts promotions or academies which sadly, is to be expected in current times, though it is still disheartening for him. Knowing that even though he is out there posing the questions and putting his name on the market, it isn't reaping any rewards.
Casting another glance at the wine bottle, he mentally deliberates about looking outside of Michigan and identifying a company that has an opening. A place where he can dip his toes into the professional realm of either sport. Whether it be wrestling or martial arts. To him, it doesn't matter which path he takes, just as long as he has the opportunity to succeed. To show the world just what he is capable of. Whether it be in the squared circle or the octagon. To him, it doesn't matter. He knows that he can dominate in both disciplines.
Reclining back against the sofa, he gently closes his eyes. Allowing himself to contemplate the most optimal course of action. Not just for the short-term, but the entirety of his career. For him, this is a decision of where does he want to be when it's all said and done? What legacy does he wish to be remembered for in either Mixed Martial Arts or Professional Wrestling? Does he want to be remembered as a champion? Or just another name?
These are the questions bouncing around in his head, as he allows the docile strains of the 1812 overture to continue floating from the speakers of his radio. He knows that what lays in front of him could be the more important decision of his career. Even more so than his decision to attend Michigan State on a wrestling scholarship in 2017 instead of simply diving into the deep end and joining the professional scene at that time, when he had offers from some of the most prestigious companies. Not just in Michigan, but around the world.
He knew he had the talent to make the jump, but wanted to follow in his family's footsteps by getting a bachelor's degree. Though unlike the rest of his family, he chose to get his bachelor’s in education. Meaning even if he isn't able to find his footing in wrestling or even martial arts, he has something to fall back on. A Plan B. Something that a lot of people tend to neglect when mapping out the path they want to take after high-school, and something his parents were insistent on him having. Just as they were with his brothers. After all, they knew firsthand about the perils of putting all their eggs into one basket. It's what they did when they made the move to America from Honduras when Isaac was two.
They knew there was every possibility that it could fail. That they could have to turn around and head back if they weren't able to find security. If they couldn't get their foot in the doors of either the medical or legal field. Luckily, they were able to accomplish that and build the life they had promised. Not just for Isaac, Gustavo, and Miguel but themselves as well. Feeling himself begin to drift off into a dream, Isaac softly whispers "Thank you," hoping that his mom and dad understand just how much they truly mean to him. Even as they look down from heaven above.]
Olympia, Washington - January 25th, 2021 - 11:25 am PST.
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[Isaac, attired in a snow-white Nike T-shirt, midnight black shorts, and navy blue Nike sneakers is seated atop the same sofa he had two days prior, within the same living room, except this time the docile strains of Vivaldi's masterpiece "The Four Seasons" can be heard throughout the air. Reminiscing about the times he and his father would listen to this violin oriented composition during drives to and from the Seattle airport when Isaac would visit from his residence in Michigan. Times when no words would need to be spoken; they would simply admire one of the best compositions of all time and allow themselves to be immersed within the world it manifested inside of them. Just as Isaac is currently.
Except unlike those drives, Isaac is also glancing down at his slate-colored HP laptop in his endeavors to seek out a promotion to call home. A place where he can truly commence his wrestling or martial arts career, just as he has been these past few days, yet he hasn't had much success. Not for a lack of effort. He's been sending his resume to any company he can find, but is yet to hear back from them or has been told the same story Michigan companies had been. "Sorry, we don't have any space presently" or "We're currently on hiatus". Which he expected, as he understood that he is still "green" to most wrestling companies. That he is still fresh in terms of the industry, regardless of his high-school or collegiate success.
Just like any occupation, it is a completely different animal when you attempt to enter the industry for the first time in a professional sense. You're not just competing against people who are in the same position as you, you also have to convince the company or promotion that they should choose you over people who are more accomplished and have experience that you could only dream of.
"It's a dog-eat-dog world," his father would always tell him. "If you're not willing to be rabid, then you have no chance of succeeding,". Words that have stuck in Isaac's mind ever since he was a child even if he didn't understand what his father meant back then. He fully understands it now. It's why he accepts that people are going to be doing anything within their power to ensure it's them; not him who obtains the spot. That it is them that the company in question, whichever it may be, are willing to hitch themselves to. Just as Isaac is intending on ensuring it is him.
His eyes fixated on the screen, he scans through the list of promotions he had applied to, before noticing out of the corner of his right eye, that he had a new message from an unknown e-mail. A soft smile crosses his face as he uses his right hand to scroll the mouse down to the right corner of the screen; click the message. Popping onto the screen, the first thing that Isaac notices is the letter head. Outlaw Pro Wrestling. A company based out of New Orleans, Louisiana who pride themselves of being the "cutting edge" of the industry. The gold standard. Just as any company likes to pitch themselves as when hiring new talent. It's something that Isaac has picked up while scanning through various advertisements for companies. Both on the mixed martial arts and wrestling side of the spectrum. They've all tried to sell themselves as being the best and having the best talent on their roster. It's how you bring in new talent, after all.
Isaac learned about that during the classes he took at Michigan State in marketing, which was his primary minor to compliment his Education major. Continuing to read through the letter, his face curls into a soft smile when he notices that this isn't just a standard pitch letter, but an acceptance letter. Inofming him that OPW have decided that they see him as the perfect fit for their roster. A fresh face to add to a roster littered with some of the biggest names that this industry has ever had to offer.
Names that have been around the industry for 20+ years; renowned the world over. Names that Isaac idolized as a child and now gets the opportunity to say he worked with them. Even if it is merely in the sense of sharing a locker room, rather than competing in the ring versus them. After all, they are established brands. They are names that are known and revered, whereas he is simply a rookie. A name that is unknown in the professional scene. He knows that and understands that it means people will look at him with trepadition. Will he be another name that comes in hot then simply flames out, or will he stand the test of time? That is not something that he nor anybody else can answer right now, for only time will tell which answer is proven to be correct.
Scrolling the mouse back up, he inhales as he presses the red 'x' button in the top right-hand corner, before pushing his laptop downward gently and mentally preparing himself for what is to come. Both in the sense of inside the ring, and the media component. The side of wrestling that enables him to build a brand beyond winning. A side that enables the fans to get to know him better as a person. Not just another face on their screens. Done in a similar vein to the interviews with celebrities that Television networks love to showcase as a "glimpse inside the life of" whoever it is they broadcast that particular day.
To some, including his brothers, it is an unnecessary invasion of privacy but Isaac realizes that it can also be his greatest tool. A means for him to ensure people realize that what he will stand for in the ring, is rooted in his own personal beliefs.]
{{{Isaac}}} "The more the merrier, I say. If I can even make one person's life better, then it is a net positive." [Whispering these words to himself, he calmly lifts the laptop up; placing it on the edge of the table, in front of his half-full ceramic oriental-themed coffee mug, he ponders those very words.]
[He knows that joining OPW puts him in a position where he can truly impact people's lives. Where even if it is just for a fleeting moment, he can make somebody's day. Whether that be by his actions inside of the ring or his gestures. It all counts at the end of the day and if even one person ultimately comes up to him and states that he helped them. Or that he was their idol, then that would be enough to make him smile. It'd be enough to inform him that it has been worth it. That the blood, the sweat, the tears that come with the industry is worth it. More so than any championship could ever. At the end of the day, that's all he wants to do. Make an impact.
Reclining back in the sofa, he glances to his left at the painting of his father from his younger days back in Honduras. A faded grey portrait that blends in with the slate colored plaster on the walls, save for the few shades of yellow brushed into the background. Symbolic of the future that he desired. Imagining himself in the position of his father, with the yellow resembling the light. The path he wishes to carve for himself within the wrestling industry. A path that awaits him in OPW.]