Post by Sentinel on Aug 28, 2015 19:15:05 GMT -6
Danny's Outhouse is a-jumpin' as the scene opens up, every stool at the bar filled, most of the tables surrounded and a few couples rhythmically convulsing to some old-school rock in the middle of the floor. Wouldn't expect such sights in an establishment with a name like that, really, but Danny always did like surprising people even if he had to do it in an off-color way. Our attention is quickly directed to one of the back tables in a relatively-quiet section of the bar. Four familiar faces are seated around one large table awaiting drinks, chatting amongst themselves as one of their number eyes the bar's front doors.
Talon, turning her attention from the entrance and back to the others, exhales quietly and checks her phone while her brother Alex sits to her left, his arm across the back of the bench. Her sister Rayne sits next to Zachariah, or more like against him, as the Masochist idly sketches on his napkin for no reason other than to pass the time. Alex is the first one to break the silence, looking toward the doors himself as he does so.
Alex: "...so he's cleared, then?"
Nodding in silence, Talon looks up as an attractive young waitress comes to the table with a tray of varied beverages which she sets down one at a time before the assemblage.
Waitress: "Let's see now...Malibu screwdriver, club soda, Chivas Regal on the rocks, Makers Mark on the rocks and..."
In order she places glasses before Rayne, Zachariah, Alex and Talon...but comes to the end of the table with one glass left and no one sitting there. Talon notes her confusion and offers a slight smile.
Talon: "He's just outside making a call, Lisa. His drink will keep."
Shrugging with a cute little smile, Lisa sets the last glass down in front of the table's empty spot.
Waitress: "...and a Fat Tire draft. Anything else, y'all?"
Talon: "No thank you, sweetie. We'll give you a yell if that changes."
Placing a few bills on the now-empty tray, Talon turns back to the rest of the group, specifically to her brother.
Talon: "He's cleared because they found out it was a tag team match this time and not one-on-one. I've had to get on his ass about doing his therapy for it because it's the only reason they didn't press for surgery. Wouldn't even let him get near the Supershow, but part of that is on Olivier, too."
Rayne: "Why, they afraid he was gonna try and take his title back?"
Talon: "Exactly."
Nods of assent abound, each person at the table knowing Sentinel was seething about his shoplifted property even if he put on a calm front. Zachariah lifts his glass, plucking the wedge of lime from within it and squeezing the juice into the bubbly contents before taking a sip. He snorts quietly under his breath, shaking his head.
Zachariah Blood: "Shouldn't have went more than one show without pulverizing Vince's bitch patrol and taking the title back. Speaking of titles, you hear about APW opening their doors again?"
By virtue of his expression, Alex apparently was unaware though that wasn't surprising since he'd never competed there. Talon on the other hand looks amused, her eyebrows raising at the news. Rayne on the other hand looks bored with the very idea of it.
Rayne: "They've been burning my phone up, wanting The Unforgiven back around for another go."
Talon: "And what have you said?"
Smirking smugly, Rayne sips of her rum and OJ, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Rayne: "Not a damn thing. We could walk into that hole and dominate tomorrow and everyone knows it. No one ever beat us for the tag team championships."
Zachariah Blood: "No one had the chance to."
Rayne: "My point exactly. I take it as a personal insult that they shut down the company practically the day after we blow the roof off the place in Japan and take what was destined to be ours from the beginning. I know Sentinel feels the same way."
Talon: "You know, if you wanted to go and asked him he'd go in a heartbeat."
Zachariah Blood: "And what, leave his World Heavyweight Title behind?"
Talon: "Not hardly. He'd try and do both."
Zachariah Blood: "Exactly why we wouldn't ask him and aren't considering it ourselves."
Rayne: "It's an option, but not a favorable one."
While they may not respond verbally, the rest of the table seems to agree with the Patron Saint of Suffering and his Mistress's assessment of the situation. The conversation quiets for a moment before Blood speaks over his glass.
Zachariah Blood: "How bad was his hand? He never said."
Taking a sip of her top-shelf whiskey, Talon's expression tenses slightly at the burn of the spirits, then answers.
Talon: "One broken finger and one fractured, fractured hand and sprained wrist. Could've been a lot worse considering who he was in there with. Almost makes it a blessing that Jones proved he was a bitch but I wouldn't tell Sentinel that."
Rayne snickers a little at the last comment and Zachariah nods slightly, going back to drawing on the napkin with his right hand. Alex downs a bit of his Chivas and eyes the door.
Alex: "Guess the important thing is that he's ready for the title defense. He can coast in the tag if he chooses. Who're the other players?"
Talon: "He's teaming with Bethany against Jones and Ashley."
Rayne: "Combustible situation. Five bucks says that Ashley tries to stir shit up talking about how Sentinel took Bethany's title and all that crap that went down with the stalker."[/b]
Zachariah Blood: "Is that before or after she tries to convince herself that she and Jones can work together better than Sentinel and Bethany can?"
Looking over at her charge, Rayne sniffs with faux impatience.
Rayne: "After, of course. That's just basic psychology."
Hardly miffed, Zachariah keeps right on drawing as he retorts.
Zachariah Blood: "No, that's advanced placement stupidity."
The table, save for Blood, breaks up a bit at that comment as our attention shifts to outside the bar where Sentinel stands with his phone to his ear, engrossed in a quiet conversation.
Sentinel: "...we can be pretty certain we know what angle they're going to take, but I wouldn't put it past them to try and surprise us. Still, Ashley is your blood and you know better how she thinks than I do."
Bethany Kenyon: "I have no idea what Ash... ok, I sorta know what Ash is thinking. I don't understand it, I don't..."
Sentinel: "Maybe we're making this too complicated. They're our opponents and we're heading toward personal confrontations with them in a couple weeks with gold hanging in the balance. Do we need to know any more than that?"
There's a brief pause while Bethany seemingly collects herself on the other end of the line. Sentinel, meanwhile, is staring across the road impassively though the set in his jaw bespeaks the intensity of the emotions swirling behind his gray eyes.
Bethany Kenyon: "We know there's likely no way in hell they work well as a team. Ashley still hates him for trying to cheat her a year ago."
Sentinel: "They're gonna say the same about us after we went to war over the big belt. Difference is, we've done work together beyond the ring...the kind where lack of trust gets people hurt or worse. That talk won't wash."
Bethany Kenyon: "Ash is likely to actually be angry over that."
Sentinel: "If she wanted in, she could've been in. All due respect, but I don't care about her feelings after all the smack she talked. I ain't got the energy to worry about it."
He looks over his shoulder toward the doors of the bar, exhales a held breath, then turns to face forward again.
Sentinel: "Look, it'd be easier to discuss this in person. How about you and Brody come down to the house on Friday? We're having a little get-together and you guys are welcome. We can handle your transportation to the show."
Bethany Kenyon: "Ok... we'll be there. Thank you..."
Sentinel: "Don't mention it. I'd suggest coming with an appetite, though. Going to be some serious grilling going on..."
Bethany Kenyon: "Deal!"
The enthusiasm is enough to draw a smile out of the big man and the two say their goodbyes before he hangs up. Sentinel heads back into the Outhouse and takes his seat next to Talon at the table in the back. He gets a look from each of the others to which he responds with a quiet stare as he takes a sip of the Fat Tire before him.
Talon: "So how did it go?"
Sentinel: "Fine. Her and Brody will be coming down for the bonfire Friday. They can ride back up on the bus with us for Mayhem."
Talon: "Good plan..."
Lifting his glass a second time, Sentinel pauses as he sees someone approaching the table in his peripheral vision. He sets it back down as the rest of the table follows his gaze to settle on Shawn Crowe standing there. The tension gets thick in a hurry and Talon especially is looking between her husband and the President of the Dead Men, expecting an explosion to happen imminently. Sentinel's wrapped and braced right hand tenses slightly on the table but when he rises from his seat he does so calmly. Shawn holds his ground but looks as tense as the rest of those present.
Shawn Crowe: "Sorry to interrupt things, folks. Sentinel, you got a moment?"
Sentinel: "...yeah."
A glance from the Destroyer informs the family that he'll be back and he follows Shawn over to the bar, a portion near the far end of it where there's a little space to converse, that is. The place has thinned out slightly with the hour getting late. Shawn accepts a Bud from the bartender and takes a swig of it as he and Sentinel gather themselves to discuss what went down recently.
Shawn Crowe: "Let's not bullshit one another here, brother. I think it's pretty obvious that you're done with the club for the foreseeable future if not forever. After the way things went down, I don't blame you for that. I'd have probably done the same."
Sentinel: "..."
Not getting a retort from the former Sergeant-at-Arms, Shawn goes on.
Shawn Crowe: "But that doesn't mean I like leaving things the way they are between you and the club. Something tells me that that isn't the way you want it either, considering what you've been preaching lately."
Sentinel: "...preaching. Good one."
Looking up from the floor, Sentinel locks eyes with Crowe without any semblance of amusement.
Sentinel: "No one else in the club, Shawn, current or former, had to deal with personal matters being intruded upon no matter how shitty things got. I know why you did what you did and, like you said, I might've done the same. But that's still a violation in my book. Putting all that aside..."
The big man's back to staring off into space again, finding it easier to focus that way.
Sentinel: "...I don't have a problem with any of you. You're still family. We just don't ride together anymore. Like you mentioned, I'm preaching different lately. I can't have the career I want dodging bullets and putting my family through more stress than they deserve."
Absorbing that information, Shawn doesn't look disappointed as much as he looks relieved. One cannot have it all, he seems to be thinking, and if everything's cool between the club and the Destroyer he really can't ask for much more.
Shawn Crowe: "I can respect that."
Sentinel: "That's all I ask. By the same token I'll respect the club and do what I can when I'm needed."
Shawn Crowe: "They'll be happy to hear that, brother."
Shawn extends his hand to Sentinel, who shakes it firmly for a moment before the two briefly embrace. No weird looks for that here, either. People seem to know these two in this place. Separating, Sentinel nods toward the table with his relieved-looking family members and addresses Crowe again.
Sentinel: "You and the boys drop by Friday. We'll be cooking up a storm and it'll be good to get everyone together in a low-key setting...let 'em know that we're all cool."
Shawn Crowe: "I can sell 'em on that. Speaking of, I'd better get back on the road myself. Duty calls and all that shit."
Finishing the beer he'd been nursing, Shawn heads out the door as Sentinel watches him go. Where there'd been tension and pressure swirling through and about the Destroyer, he now looks a bit calmer. Turning and rejoining the rest at the table, he manages another sip of his beer as the rest stare expectantly. He eyes each of them for a moment, then laughs despite the tension.
Sentinel: "...what?"
Zachariah Blood: "The hell do you mean 'what'?"
Sentinel: "Everything's cool. He wanted to make sure of that and so it is."
Talon: "Just like that?"
Turning his full attention on his wife, Sentinel nods.
Sentinel: "You know I'm trying, baby."
Talon: "Yeah, I do. I think we're all glad for that."
Even Zachariah shows agreement with that assessment as the same relief permeating Sentinel's very being spreads about the table and puts everyone a bit more at ease. Glasses are raised, and soon replaced by fresh ones, as the scene fades out slowly, cutting to the gathering previously mentioned. There's quite a group of people filling the back yard of Sentinel's property, including the Dead Men, Zachariah, Rayne and even Bethany and Brody. A large table is set up on the deck next to the grill loaded with bowls and platters that are steadily being filled with goodies from the aforementioned grill. Talon is assisting Sentinel with this when the doorbell rings. Sentinel looks up, then turns to his wife and places a kiss at the corner of her lips.
Sentinel: "I'll tend to that. You keep working your magic."
Talon: "Only because you asked nicely."
If it weren't being used to bring burgers and such off the grill, Talon might have swung for Sentinel's ass with the spatula but she restrains herself as he chuckles in response, heading inside. He pulls open the front door and opens the screen door as well for a man close to his size minus a couple inches, a black-haired young woman with an infectuous smile and a boy about Cheyenne's age. The trio steps in and the two men embrace for a moment like old friends...or perhaps family. Sentinel steps back, holding the guy's shoulders at arm's length.
Sentinel: "Been too goddamn long, brother. How was the old country?"
There's only one man alive with a smirk like that. Removing his silver-framed sunglasses, Eric Donavan tucks them into his jacket pocket and claps Sentinel on the shoulder in a similar fashion.
Eric Donavan: "Amazing. But it's still good to be back home."
Eric turn to his wife and son, gesturing toward the deck and the doors leading to it.
Eric Donavan: "Go on out, you two. Talon will be happy to see the both of you. And you should say hello to Cheyenne, Liam. I'm sure she'll want to see you."
Lyra and Liam head outside as requested, the former stealing a kiss from Eric before she heads out. Both Sentinel and Eric watch her go, one more intently than the other, before turning back to each other. Eric flips on the serious switch in a second's time as he and Sentinel head into the kitchen.
Eric Donavan: "So what's up with this Jones asshole and how much longer are you going to let him walk upright?"
Sentinel: "Until the pay-per-view. Boss's orders."
Eric Donavan: "Boss's orders my pale Irish ass."
Sentinel: "Thin ice, Eric. I'd like to keep my damn job."
Eric Donavan: "A job that doesn't mean anything without pride, and there's no pride for a champion without a title."
Sentinel: "It's under control. You're not the only one who has backup plans."
Laughing at that, Eric opens the fridge and hands Sentinel a beer, taking one for himself.
Eric Donavan: "I'll grant you that. Situation just reminds me too much of my own career, y'know?"
Sentinel: "Maybe patience is the difference there, Eric. You won your first World Championship in three months. It took me that many years and then some."
Both are looking past the doors by now, watching as people start to mill around the table, filling their plates. That sight has a relaxing effect on both men it seems, who are content to let the others get their fill while they sip their beers and watch, waiting their turn.
Sentinel: "I'll be walking into the pay-per-view with that title over my shoulder. Gods willing, I'll walk out the same way."
Eric Donavan: "I believe you can do it."
Sentinel: "...that means a lot, brother."
For a bit longer they watch before they're collectively beckoned outside by their respective wives. Not a clarion call they can rightly ignore, they head out onto the deck, bringing with them another fade to black. The next time the camera comes up, it's probably past midnight. The scent of burning wood and the remnants of the massive dinner still hang in the warm summer evening breeze, tempting with memories only just made. Sentinel is standing out on the deck, one of the Mason jars of tea from the nearby cooler in his hand as he takes regular sips from it. Off to the side under the awning upon one of the built-in benches are Brody and Bethany, chatting quietly with one another. Talon is perched on the railing near Sentinel, watching the same view as he while down in the yard, the rest of the group are sitting around the large fire pit with a raging bonfire going. The Dead Men, Eric, Lyra, Zachariah and Rayne and the little ones are doing their part to enjoy the evening.
But it's still time for business, which is what Sentinel has on his brain right now. He turns, leaning back against the railing and setting the jar of tea carefully upon it as he does so. He locks on to the camera, pushing some dark hair from his face.
Sentinel: "Do you know what makes a person truly dangerous?"
He lets the question hang for a moment. Talon, Bethany and Brody look up from what they're doing but none interrupt. Sentinel gives it another second, then continues.
Sentinel: "Complete justification."
Pausing for another drink of tea, the Destroyer lets those words sink in as he had with the others.
Sentinel: "I wondered not long ago what Ashley Kenyon's problem was, why she was being such a catty bitch to the people who had been good to her. Granted, I never paid much attention to other people's issues unless they intersected with my own, so maybe I missed something, but I do remember how K.I.S.S. was when they first came in and to see the state they're in now is sad. They're blood and now one of them is off telling stories and raising hell while the other is trying to pick up the pieces and live right, spending more and more energy on trying to fix what's wrong without even knowing WHY it's wrong."
Giving a knowing look to Bethany, who nods quietly in response, Sentinel turns back to the camera.
Sentinel: "Ashley thinks the things that she's done and said of late are completely justified. She believes she's right and there's nothing and nobody that can change her mind on that. She's locked in to her beliefs with the blinders up as she powers down the path toward an ultimate confrontation with her flesh and blood. I can respect that kind of resolve because I've been there before in several forms. But that kind of focus comes with a price.
Vince Jones is the same way, except he's been like that ever since he first showed up. The world owes him something is what his so-called swagger screams out to everyone. He parades around with a group of yes-men and a woman who probably should have dumped his ass years ago for all the lechery he perpetrates. He's got the physical tools to take what he wants and that's served him pretty well so far, with a nice, long title reign under his belt. Of course, he's also batshit crazy. He's had the same approach from the beginning and even when it doesn't work out for him he stays the course. That kind of focus I can't relate to."
Pondering thoughtfully over another large gulp of lemon-infused tea, Sentinel smirks to himself a bit as if remembering an amusing joke.
Sentinel: "Ashley and Vince are two of a kind in that regard. They're focused and they're in full belief that everything they do has a greater purpose, that they're beyond reproach. They don't care who they hurt or how many bridges they burn so long as they get what they want. And what does Ashley want? I don't know. I don't think Bethany knows either. But I'm pretty sure I know what Jones wants...because in one fashion he already has it. It's that big, gold belt draped over his shoulder.
The one with MY name on it."
Yeah, there's some displeasure there.
Sentinel: "I gave him the chance a couple Mayhems back to prove to me that he was a man, and while he claims that he had no need to get involved because I'd wreck myself without his input..."
From Sentinel's left pocket he draws Vince's bitch card and shows it to the camera. Those near him laugh at the sight of it and the man himself smiles slightly.
Sentinel: "...but all he really did was prove my assertion from a few minutes ago right. Vince won't step outside his comfort zone for anyone or anything. The only thing stealing my title proves is lack of confidence in himself, the realization that the only way he's going to be champion is by stealing the belt. And thanks to my doctor and Olivier Georgio, he's been wallowing in that delusion for weeks now.
But I'm willing to take the good with the bad. The longer that Jones wrongly holds that belt, the more comfortable he'll get while his head swells up and he gets softer on the inside. And I know part of the reason for all this, for why Georgio is refusing to let me near the shows until I get clearance, is because he wants to be sure his pay-per-view main event stays intact. But it's also because he's testing me. He wants to know that I'm serious about making a change, about being better. And I am. Anyone who knows me will tell you that.
And as all this goes on, Jones gets drawn in a little more as each day passes. He's a rabbit bounding through the high grass, paying no attention to what's lurking above. And he won't know just how fucked he is until he feels me landing on him at 100 miles an hour, digging my talons in and crushing every bone in his body on impact. See, Vince, I can be a good man and still be a violent, bloodthirsty sonofabitch in that ring. And this coming Mayhem is your last night with that belt over your shoulder so I'd get to popping with the selfies and tweets, boy, because it's the last time you'll have any title, earned or otherwise, for a good long while."
Polishing off his tea, Sentinel has the container taken from him by Talon as she drops off the railing and heads into the house. Sentinel looks after her and shortly beyond that Bethany and Brody join her. The rest stay around the bonfire as he returns his attention to the camera.
Sentinel: "Bethany and I know what we're getting into at Mayhem. I'm sure that Vince and Ashley are going to try and sow the seeds of discontent, but it's a waste of time. This is a woman who has her head on straight, unlike her sister. I've gone to war with and alongside her. We've spilled blood together and fought each other like rabid animals. That forges a connection between people that can't be faked or manufactured.
That isn't to say that Vince and Ashley don't have plenty in common these days, but when you throw together two selfish, self-serving creatures like those, one is eventually going to try to eat the other. Ashley owes the biggest win of her career to Jones and she's carrying around something that that big bastard held for a very long time. Hell with making each other cut the cards...they're more likely to cut one another's throats."
The Destroyer trails off, folding his arms and closing his eyes, seeming to take a moment to listen to the crackling of the fire and the quiet conversation going on below. This is a man at his refuge from the world, surrounded by people he cares about. There's no greater salve for the soul as far as he's concerned.
But he still has his eyes on the prize.
Sentinel: "Complete justification..."
Repeating that example of strength and danger from earlier, Sentinel smiles a little.
Sentinel: "It turns good women into vindictive wenches. It turns powerful men into laughable caricatures. But that's just the dark side of the coin, isn't it? What does such conviction do to someone like me, for instance?"
The smile fades.
Sentinel: "It turns them into champions. It brings hell upon them in the form of enemy after enemy lining up at the proverbial gates like slavering strays. It elevates them to the top of their game...and it brings unimaginable pressure. But it's a pressure I'm used to, one that I've lived with since I started my career. What the two of you are doing, Vince and Ashley? It's nothing new. I've seen it go down before, and eventually the good people that you abuse, Miss Kenyon, are going to bite back and believe me when I say that you'll lose more than a finger to their fangs. Tyler Harrison can tell you all about that, having had enough of his so-called employer's abuse of his good nature. Eventually he became one of us and his now-former bitch master was never the same again.
As for you, Vince? People like you are a dime a dozen in this business. Hell, wrestling itself these days is more about talking a good game than actually getting in between the ropes and getting the job done with your fists. And when that isn't good enough, they resort to theft and interfering with an opponent's personal lives. They might be big, bad motherfuckers, but somewhere along the line they forget that. They stop playing to their strengths and taking the coward's way out. Justified though you think you are, your lack of confidence is going to end up crippling you. Me? I'm just going to finish the job your own twisted mind started. But that's for the pay-per-view. Come Mayhem...I'm coming to get my property back."
Pushing off from the rail, Sentinel takes a moment to tie back his hair, never taking his eyes off the camera.
Sentinel: "Getting to throttle you and enjoy watching Bethany try to slap some sense into her sister is just a bonus. We're looking to win, naturally, but so long as I walk out with the gold over my shoulder where it belongs, which I damn well will, it'll be a good enough night for me. Your only option is whether you hand it over like a man...or make me take it."
Looking as though he'd be quite happy with the later, the Destroyer shoots one last glare at the camera before moving past it, leaving a few words in passing.
Sentinel: "Push your luck and watch what happens when you force a good man to do bad things."
Moving past the camera and into the house, the timer on the device soon plays out and we cut to black for the final time.
Talon, turning her attention from the entrance and back to the others, exhales quietly and checks her phone while her brother Alex sits to her left, his arm across the back of the bench. Her sister Rayne sits next to Zachariah, or more like against him, as the Masochist idly sketches on his napkin for no reason other than to pass the time. Alex is the first one to break the silence, looking toward the doors himself as he does so.
Alex: "...so he's cleared, then?"
Nodding in silence, Talon looks up as an attractive young waitress comes to the table with a tray of varied beverages which she sets down one at a time before the assemblage.
Waitress: "Let's see now...Malibu screwdriver, club soda, Chivas Regal on the rocks, Makers Mark on the rocks and..."
In order she places glasses before Rayne, Zachariah, Alex and Talon...but comes to the end of the table with one glass left and no one sitting there. Talon notes her confusion and offers a slight smile.
Talon: "He's just outside making a call, Lisa. His drink will keep."
Shrugging with a cute little smile, Lisa sets the last glass down in front of the table's empty spot.
Waitress: "...and a Fat Tire draft. Anything else, y'all?"
Talon: "No thank you, sweetie. We'll give you a yell if that changes."
Placing a few bills on the now-empty tray, Talon turns back to the rest of the group, specifically to her brother.
Talon: "He's cleared because they found out it was a tag team match this time and not one-on-one. I've had to get on his ass about doing his therapy for it because it's the only reason they didn't press for surgery. Wouldn't even let him get near the Supershow, but part of that is on Olivier, too."
Rayne: "Why, they afraid he was gonna try and take his title back?"
Talon: "Exactly."
Nods of assent abound, each person at the table knowing Sentinel was seething about his shoplifted property even if he put on a calm front. Zachariah lifts his glass, plucking the wedge of lime from within it and squeezing the juice into the bubbly contents before taking a sip. He snorts quietly under his breath, shaking his head.
Zachariah Blood: "Shouldn't have went more than one show without pulverizing Vince's bitch patrol and taking the title back. Speaking of titles, you hear about APW opening their doors again?"
By virtue of his expression, Alex apparently was unaware though that wasn't surprising since he'd never competed there. Talon on the other hand looks amused, her eyebrows raising at the news. Rayne on the other hand looks bored with the very idea of it.
Rayne: "They've been burning my phone up, wanting The Unforgiven back around for another go."
Talon: "And what have you said?"
Smirking smugly, Rayne sips of her rum and OJ, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Rayne: "Not a damn thing. We could walk into that hole and dominate tomorrow and everyone knows it. No one ever beat us for the tag team championships."
Zachariah Blood: "No one had the chance to."
Rayne: "My point exactly. I take it as a personal insult that they shut down the company practically the day after we blow the roof off the place in Japan and take what was destined to be ours from the beginning. I know Sentinel feels the same way."
Talon: "You know, if you wanted to go and asked him he'd go in a heartbeat."
Zachariah Blood: "And what, leave his World Heavyweight Title behind?"
Talon: "Not hardly. He'd try and do both."
Zachariah Blood: "Exactly why we wouldn't ask him and aren't considering it ourselves."
Rayne: "It's an option, but not a favorable one."
While they may not respond verbally, the rest of the table seems to agree with the Patron Saint of Suffering and his Mistress's assessment of the situation. The conversation quiets for a moment before Blood speaks over his glass.
Zachariah Blood: "How bad was his hand? He never said."
Taking a sip of her top-shelf whiskey, Talon's expression tenses slightly at the burn of the spirits, then answers.
Talon: "One broken finger and one fractured, fractured hand and sprained wrist. Could've been a lot worse considering who he was in there with. Almost makes it a blessing that Jones proved he was a bitch but I wouldn't tell Sentinel that."
Rayne snickers a little at the last comment and Zachariah nods slightly, going back to drawing on the napkin with his right hand. Alex downs a bit of his Chivas and eyes the door.
Alex: "Guess the important thing is that he's ready for the title defense. He can coast in the tag if he chooses. Who're the other players?"
Talon: "He's teaming with Bethany against Jones and Ashley."
Rayne: "Combustible situation. Five bucks says that Ashley tries to stir shit up talking about how Sentinel took Bethany's title and all that crap that went down with the stalker."[/b]
Zachariah Blood: "Is that before or after she tries to convince herself that she and Jones can work together better than Sentinel and Bethany can?"
Looking over at her charge, Rayne sniffs with faux impatience.
Rayne: "After, of course. That's just basic psychology."
Hardly miffed, Zachariah keeps right on drawing as he retorts.
Zachariah Blood: "No, that's advanced placement stupidity."
The table, save for Blood, breaks up a bit at that comment as our attention shifts to outside the bar where Sentinel stands with his phone to his ear, engrossed in a quiet conversation.
Sentinel: "...we can be pretty certain we know what angle they're going to take, but I wouldn't put it past them to try and surprise us. Still, Ashley is your blood and you know better how she thinks than I do."
Bethany Kenyon: "I have no idea what Ash... ok, I sorta know what Ash is thinking. I don't understand it, I don't..."
Sentinel: "Maybe we're making this too complicated. They're our opponents and we're heading toward personal confrontations with them in a couple weeks with gold hanging in the balance. Do we need to know any more than that?"
There's a brief pause while Bethany seemingly collects herself on the other end of the line. Sentinel, meanwhile, is staring across the road impassively though the set in his jaw bespeaks the intensity of the emotions swirling behind his gray eyes.
Bethany Kenyon: "We know there's likely no way in hell they work well as a team. Ashley still hates him for trying to cheat her a year ago."
Sentinel: "They're gonna say the same about us after we went to war over the big belt. Difference is, we've done work together beyond the ring...the kind where lack of trust gets people hurt or worse. That talk won't wash."
Bethany Kenyon: "Ash is likely to actually be angry over that."
Sentinel: "If she wanted in, she could've been in. All due respect, but I don't care about her feelings after all the smack she talked. I ain't got the energy to worry about it."
He looks over his shoulder toward the doors of the bar, exhales a held breath, then turns to face forward again.
Sentinel: "Look, it'd be easier to discuss this in person. How about you and Brody come down to the house on Friday? We're having a little get-together and you guys are welcome. We can handle your transportation to the show."
Bethany Kenyon: "Ok... we'll be there. Thank you..."
Sentinel: "Don't mention it. I'd suggest coming with an appetite, though. Going to be some serious grilling going on..."
Bethany Kenyon: "Deal!"
The enthusiasm is enough to draw a smile out of the big man and the two say their goodbyes before he hangs up. Sentinel heads back into the Outhouse and takes his seat next to Talon at the table in the back. He gets a look from each of the others to which he responds with a quiet stare as he takes a sip of the Fat Tire before him.
Talon: "So how did it go?"
Sentinel: "Fine. Her and Brody will be coming down for the bonfire Friday. They can ride back up on the bus with us for Mayhem."
Talon: "Good plan..."
Lifting his glass a second time, Sentinel pauses as he sees someone approaching the table in his peripheral vision. He sets it back down as the rest of the table follows his gaze to settle on Shawn Crowe standing there. The tension gets thick in a hurry and Talon especially is looking between her husband and the President of the Dead Men, expecting an explosion to happen imminently. Sentinel's wrapped and braced right hand tenses slightly on the table but when he rises from his seat he does so calmly. Shawn holds his ground but looks as tense as the rest of those present.
Shawn Crowe: "Sorry to interrupt things, folks. Sentinel, you got a moment?"
Sentinel: "...yeah."
A glance from the Destroyer informs the family that he'll be back and he follows Shawn over to the bar, a portion near the far end of it where there's a little space to converse, that is. The place has thinned out slightly with the hour getting late. Shawn accepts a Bud from the bartender and takes a swig of it as he and Sentinel gather themselves to discuss what went down recently.
Shawn Crowe: "Let's not bullshit one another here, brother. I think it's pretty obvious that you're done with the club for the foreseeable future if not forever. After the way things went down, I don't blame you for that. I'd have probably done the same."
Sentinel: "..."
Not getting a retort from the former Sergeant-at-Arms, Shawn goes on.
Shawn Crowe: "But that doesn't mean I like leaving things the way they are between you and the club. Something tells me that that isn't the way you want it either, considering what you've been preaching lately."
Sentinel: "...preaching. Good one."
Looking up from the floor, Sentinel locks eyes with Crowe without any semblance of amusement.
Sentinel: "No one else in the club, Shawn, current or former, had to deal with personal matters being intruded upon no matter how shitty things got. I know why you did what you did and, like you said, I might've done the same. But that's still a violation in my book. Putting all that aside..."
The big man's back to staring off into space again, finding it easier to focus that way.
Sentinel: "...I don't have a problem with any of you. You're still family. We just don't ride together anymore. Like you mentioned, I'm preaching different lately. I can't have the career I want dodging bullets and putting my family through more stress than they deserve."
Absorbing that information, Shawn doesn't look disappointed as much as he looks relieved. One cannot have it all, he seems to be thinking, and if everything's cool between the club and the Destroyer he really can't ask for much more.
Shawn Crowe: "I can respect that."
Sentinel: "That's all I ask. By the same token I'll respect the club and do what I can when I'm needed."
Shawn Crowe: "They'll be happy to hear that, brother."
Shawn extends his hand to Sentinel, who shakes it firmly for a moment before the two briefly embrace. No weird looks for that here, either. People seem to know these two in this place. Separating, Sentinel nods toward the table with his relieved-looking family members and addresses Crowe again.
Sentinel: "You and the boys drop by Friday. We'll be cooking up a storm and it'll be good to get everyone together in a low-key setting...let 'em know that we're all cool."
Shawn Crowe: "I can sell 'em on that. Speaking of, I'd better get back on the road myself. Duty calls and all that shit."
Finishing the beer he'd been nursing, Shawn heads out the door as Sentinel watches him go. Where there'd been tension and pressure swirling through and about the Destroyer, he now looks a bit calmer. Turning and rejoining the rest at the table, he manages another sip of his beer as the rest stare expectantly. He eyes each of them for a moment, then laughs despite the tension.
Sentinel: "...what?"
Zachariah Blood: "The hell do you mean 'what'?"
Sentinel: "Everything's cool. He wanted to make sure of that and so it is."
Talon: "Just like that?"
Turning his full attention on his wife, Sentinel nods.
Sentinel: "You know I'm trying, baby."
Talon: "Yeah, I do. I think we're all glad for that."
Even Zachariah shows agreement with that assessment as the same relief permeating Sentinel's very being spreads about the table and puts everyone a bit more at ease. Glasses are raised, and soon replaced by fresh ones, as the scene fades out slowly, cutting to the gathering previously mentioned. There's quite a group of people filling the back yard of Sentinel's property, including the Dead Men, Zachariah, Rayne and even Bethany and Brody. A large table is set up on the deck next to the grill loaded with bowls and platters that are steadily being filled with goodies from the aforementioned grill. Talon is assisting Sentinel with this when the doorbell rings. Sentinel looks up, then turns to his wife and places a kiss at the corner of her lips.
Sentinel: "I'll tend to that. You keep working your magic."
Talon: "Only because you asked nicely."
If it weren't being used to bring burgers and such off the grill, Talon might have swung for Sentinel's ass with the spatula but she restrains herself as he chuckles in response, heading inside. He pulls open the front door and opens the screen door as well for a man close to his size minus a couple inches, a black-haired young woman with an infectuous smile and a boy about Cheyenne's age. The trio steps in and the two men embrace for a moment like old friends...or perhaps family. Sentinel steps back, holding the guy's shoulders at arm's length.
Sentinel: "Been too goddamn long, brother. How was the old country?"
There's only one man alive with a smirk like that. Removing his silver-framed sunglasses, Eric Donavan tucks them into his jacket pocket and claps Sentinel on the shoulder in a similar fashion.
Eric Donavan: "Amazing. But it's still good to be back home."
Eric turn to his wife and son, gesturing toward the deck and the doors leading to it.
Eric Donavan: "Go on out, you two. Talon will be happy to see the both of you. And you should say hello to Cheyenne, Liam. I'm sure she'll want to see you."
Lyra and Liam head outside as requested, the former stealing a kiss from Eric before she heads out. Both Sentinel and Eric watch her go, one more intently than the other, before turning back to each other. Eric flips on the serious switch in a second's time as he and Sentinel head into the kitchen.
Eric Donavan: "So what's up with this Jones asshole and how much longer are you going to let him walk upright?"
Sentinel: "Until the pay-per-view. Boss's orders."
Eric Donavan: "Boss's orders my pale Irish ass."
Sentinel: "Thin ice, Eric. I'd like to keep my damn job."
Eric Donavan: "A job that doesn't mean anything without pride, and there's no pride for a champion without a title."
Sentinel: "It's under control. You're not the only one who has backup plans."
Laughing at that, Eric opens the fridge and hands Sentinel a beer, taking one for himself.
Eric Donavan: "I'll grant you that. Situation just reminds me too much of my own career, y'know?"
Sentinel: "Maybe patience is the difference there, Eric. You won your first World Championship in three months. It took me that many years and then some."
Both are looking past the doors by now, watching as people start to mill around the table, filling their plates. That sight has a relaxing effect on both men it seems, who are content to let the others get their fill while they sip their beers and watch, waiting their turn.
Sentinel: "I'll be walking into the pay-per-view with that title over my shoulder. Gods willing, I'll walk out the same way."
Eric Donavan: "I believe you can do it."
Sentinel: "...that means a lot, brother."
For a bit longer they watch before they're collectively beckoned outside by their respective wives. Not a clarion call they can rightly ignore, they head out onto the deck, bringing with them another fade to black. The next time the camera comes up, it's probably past midnight. The scent of burning wood and the remnants of the massive dinner still hang in the warm summer evening breeze, tempting with memories only just made. Sentinel is standing out on the deck, one of the Mason jars of tea from the nearby cooler in his hand as he takes regular sips from it. Off to the side under the awning upon one of the built-in benches are Brody and Bethany, chatting quietly with one another. Talon is perched on the railing near Sentinel, watching the same view as he while down in the yard, the rest of the group are sitting around the large fire pit with a raging bonfire going. The Dead Men, Eric, Lyra, Zachariah and Rayne and the little ones are doing their part to enjoy the evening.
But it's still time for business, which is what Sentinel has on his brain right now. He turns, leaning back against the railing and setting the jar of tea carefully upon it as he does so. He locks on to the camera, pushing some dark hair from his face.
Sentinel: "Do you know what makes a person truly dangerous?"
He lets the question hang for a moment. Talon, Bethany and Brody look up from what they're doing but none interrupt. Sentinel gives it another second, then continues.
Sentinel: "Complete justification."
Pausing for another drink of tea, the Destroyer lets those words sink in as he had with the others.
Sentinel: "I wondered not long ago what Ashley Kenyon's problem was, why she was being such a catty bitch to the people who had been good to her. Granted, I never paid much attention to other people's issues unless they intersected with my own, so maybe I missed something, but I do remember how K.I.S.S. was when they first came in and to see the state they're in now is sad. They're blood and now one of them is off telling stories and raising hell while the other is trying to pick up the pieces and live right, spending more and more energy on trying to fix what's wrong without even knowing WHY it's wrong."
Giving a knowing look to Bethany, who nods quietly in response, Sentinel turns back to the camera.
Sentinel: "Ashley thinks the things that she's done and said of late are completely justified. She believes she's right and there's nothing and nobody that can change her mind on that. She's locked in to her beliefs with the blinders up as she powers down the path toward an ultimate confrontation with her flesh and blood. I can respect that kind of resolve because I've been there before in several forms. But that kind of focus comes with a price.
Vince Jones is the same way, except he's been like that ever since he first showed up. The world owes him something is what his so-called swagger screams out to everyone. He parades around with a group of yes-men and a woman who probably should have dumped his ass years ago for all the lechery he perpetrates. He's got the physical tools to take what he wants and that's served him pretty well so far, with a nice, long title reign under his belt. Of course, he's also batshit crazy. He's had the same approach from the beginning and even when it doesn't work out for him he stays the course. That kind of focus I can't relate to."
Pondering thoughtfully over another large gulp of lemon-infused tea, Sentinel smirks to himself a bit as if remembering an amusing joke.
Sentinel: "Ashley and Vince are two of a kind in that regard. They're focused and they're in full belief that everything they do has a greater purpose, that they're beyond reproach. They don't care who they hurt or how many bridges they burn so long as they get what they want. And what does Ashley want? I don't know. I don't think Bethany knows either. But I'm pretty sure I know what Jones wants...because in one fashion he already has it. It's that big, gold belt draped over his shoulder.
The one with MY name on it."
Yeah, there's some displeasure there.
Sentinel: "I gave him the chance a couple Mayhems back to prove to me that he was a man, and while he claims that he had no need to get involved because I'd wreck myself without his input..."
From Sentinel's left pocket he draws Vince's bitch card and shows it to the camera. Those near him laugh at the sight of it and the man himself smiles slightly.
Sentinel: "...but all he really did was prove my assertion from a few minutes ago right. Vince won't step outside his comfort zone for anyone or anything. The only thing stealing my title proves is lack of confidence in himself, the realization that the only way he's going to be champion is by stealing the belt. And thanks to my doctor and Olivier Georgio, he's been wallowing in that delusion for weeks now.
But I'm willing to take the good with the bad. The longer that Jones wrongly holds that belt, the more comfortable he'll get while his head swells up and he gets softer on the inside. And I know part of the reason for all this, for why Georgio is refusing to let me near the shows until I get clearance, is because he wants to be sure his pay-per-view main event stays intact. But it's also because he's testing me. He wants to know that I'm serious about making a change, about being better. And I am. Anyone who knows me will tell you that.
And as all this goes on, Jones gets drawn in a little more as each day passes. He's a rabbit bounding through the high grass, paying no attention to what's lurking above. And he won't know just how fucked he is until he feels me landing on him at 100 miles an hour, digging my talons in and crushing every bone in his body on impact. See, Vince, I can be a good man and still be a violent, bloodthirsty sonofabitch in that ring. And this coming Mayhem is your last night with that belt over your shoulder so I'd get to popping with the selfies and tweets, boy, because it's the last time you'll have any title, earned or otherwise, for a good long while."
Polishing off his tea, Sentinel has the container taken from him by Talon as she drops off the railing and heads into the house. Sentinel looks after her and shortly beyond that Bethany and Brody join her. The rest stay around the bonfire as he returns his attention to the camera.
Sentinel: "Bethany and I know what we're getting into at Mayhem. I'm sure that Vince and Ashley are going to try and sow the seeds of discontent, but it's a waste of time. This is a woman who has her head on straight, unlike her sister. I've gone to war with and alongside her. We've spilled blood together and fought each other like rabid animals. That forges a connection between people that can't be faked or manufactured.
That isn't to say that Vince and Ashley don't have plenty in common these days, but when you throw together two selfish, self-serving creatures like those, one is eventually going to try to eat the other. Ashley owes the biggest win of her career to Jones and she's carrying around something that that big bastard held for a very long time. Hell with making each other cut the cards...they're more likely to cut one another's throats."
The Destroyer trails off, folding his arms and closing his eyes, seeming to take a moment to listen to the crackling of the fire and the quiet conversation going on below. This is a man at his refuge from the world, surrounded by people he cares about. There's no greater salve for the soul as far as he's concerned.
But he still has his eyes on the prize.
Sentinel: "Complete justification..."
Repeating that example of strength and danger from earlier, Sentinel smiles a little.
Sentinel: "It turns good women into vindictive wenches. It turns powerful men into laughable caricatures. But that's just the dark side of the coin, isn't it? What does such conviction do to someone like me, for instance?"
The smile fades.
Sentinel: "It turns them into champions. It brings hell upon them in the form of enemy after enemy lining up at the proverbial gates like slavering strays. It elevates them to the top of their game...and it brings unimaginable pressure. But it's a pressure I'm used to, one that I've lived with since I started my career. What the two of you are doing, Vince and Ashley? It's nothing new. I've seen it go down before, and eventually the good people that you abuse, Miss Kenyon, are going to bite back and believe me when I say that you'll lose more than a finger to their fangs. Tyler Harrison can tell you all about that, having had enough of his so-called employer's abuse of his good nature. Eventually he became one of us and his now-former bitch master was never the same again.
As for you, Vince? People like you are a dime a dozen in this business. Hell, wrestling itself these days is more about talking a good game than actually getting in between the ropes and getting the job done with your fists. And when that isn't good enough, they resort to theft and interfering with an opponent's personal lives. They might be big, bad motherfuckers, but somewhere along the line they forget that. They stop playing to their strengths and taking the coward's way out. Justified though you think you are, your lack of confidence is going to end up crippling you. Me? I'm just going to finish the job your own twisted mind started. But that's for the pay-per-view. Come Mayhem...I'm coming to get my property back."
Pushing off from the rail, Sentinel takes a moment to tie back his hair, never taking his eyes off the camera.
Sentinel: "Getting to throttle you and enjoy watching Bethany try to slap some sense into her sister is just a bonus. We're looking to win, naturally, but so long as I walk out with the gold over my shoulder where it belongs, which I damn well will, it'll be a good enough night for me. Your only option is whether you hand it over like a man...or make me take it."
Looking as though he'd be quite happy with the later, the Destroyer shoots one last glare at the camera before moving past it, leaving a few words in passing.
Sentinel: "Push your luck and watch what happens when you force a good man to do bad things."
Moving past the camera and into the house, the timer on the device soon plays out and we cut to black for the final time.
