Post by Sentinel on Dec 21, 2015 11:06:02 GMT -6
Tension radiates from every inch of Talon's body as we watch her pacing back and forth in the kitchen of hers and Sentinel's Valley Forge home. This is a more natural Angel of Sin than we usually see, foregoing cosmetics and form-fitting attire for simpler fare. Comfortable does not mean unattractive in her case, however, and it certainly doesn't downgrade just how dangerous Sentinel's wife and manager looks at this moment. A cordless phone held to her ear as she threatens to wear a ditch in the kitchen's linoleum with her pacing, she speaks into the phone with a voice barely controlled in terms of volume or emotion.
And where is the man himself? Not in sight at present but most likely nearby. It would stand to reason that that's the reason for her attempts at being quieter with her end of the conversation. We can hear someone speaking on the other end of the phone, but not well enough that we know what's being said. Talon stops at the kitchen window during a pause in the conversation, looking out past the deck and into the backyard where Sentinel himself is playing with their daughter Cheyenne. Where such a sight should have brought a smile to Talon's face, it instead makes her look even more intense. She cuts off the other person mid-sentence with a less-than-pleasant edge in her voice.
Talon: "Rather than trying to throw all this medical terminology in my face, doctor, how about you simply tell me the truth? I'm not an idiot. I have medical training of my own and I can tell when someone is beating around the damn bush and trying to spare my feelings or some shit."
There's a pause before the person on the other end speaks again and Talon turns from the window, a hand going to her forehead as if due to a sudden bolt of pain.
Talon: "And for how long have you known this? I swear to God if you've been sitting on this...!"
We know, from the tone at least, that the person on the other end is trying to assuage Talon, perhaps to reassure her that this is indeed a recent discovery...whatever it is.
Talon: "Well, what the hell should we do, then?" What? No, not really...he's been about the same as usual. Well, except..."
The pacing has all but stopped and Talon, in a moment of remembrace, casts her attention to the ceiling. What she likely sees in her mind's eye is what we're shown, in black and white, from the previous Mayhem.
Cronos. Sentinel.
A piece of pipe.
Blood. Broken bones.
She shakes her head as the view returns to her, as if trying to shake the vision from her subconscious. She recalls the moment when Sentinel almost turned on her before he realized it was her who'd tried to stop him and shivered again.
Talon: "...he broke a man's leg a few nights ago for getting too close to me. Yes, legitimately. No, it was during Mayhem. They're treating it as an on-the-job thing."
The person on the other end, presumably Sentinel's doctor who was visited in his previous promo, speaks again as Talon again casts her gaze out the window. Cheyenne is laughing and chasing the ball across the yard as Sentinel, in the midst of her inattention, takes something from his pocket and shakes a few items from within it into his mouth. Talon's expression contorts unpleasantly.
Talon: "...did you perscribe him anything after seeing him last week? Because he hasn't said anything about it but I just saw him taking something. He tells me whenever he has some kind of medication because I'm better at reminding him about it than he is with dealing with it by himself. You're sure?"
Static cuts off the scene after a moment, taking us back to the previous promo referenced before. Sentinel, sitting at a table in a restaurant across from the person following and recording the events around him for the day. He takes the same pills from the same bottle in front of the man.
Cameraman: "Okay, I gotta ask...what are those?"
Sentinel: "Let's just say that they're what's making today possible and leave it at that."
Flashing back to Talon, she forces herself into a perceived state of calm. But we can all tell that she's simmering beneath the surface...not unlike Sentinel most often lately.
Talon: "Damn it. Then there's no telling where he got it. Fuck!"
She comes so very close to slamming her fist against the glass door but stops herself and forces another bout of calm upon herself despite the tremors in her right arm as the fingers loosen and she lowers her hand. Father and daughter are entirely unaware that they're being watched, the latter running into the arms of the former and being easily scooped up. Cheyenne finds herself, quite happily, perched on dad's shoulder with his massive left hand steadying her easily.
Talon watches this in silence, finding a great deal of uncertainty in the moment. She knows that this is the best mood she's seen out of her husband in weeks. While it conflicts heavily with his actions at the previous Mayhem and an upcoming title defense in the new year, the man looks genuinely happy and so does the little girl on his shoulder. The conflict is wracking her but you'd never know it to hear her talk in that particular moment or to see the eerie mask of contentment she's affecting.
Talon: "I'll keep an eye on him as best I can. Is there anything else I should look for besides the mood swings, violent tendencies and short-term memory issues?"
Listening for a few seconds, she nods slightly to herself.
Talon: "All right. Set up an appointment for the 28th. We'll be there if I have to drag him."
Hanging up with a loud beep, Talon taps the phone against her arm as they're crossed beneath her chest. There's plenty on her mind, yet nothing she can bring herself to say as she walks away from the window. The scene fades on father and daughter in the yard, returning moments later (for us), with a shot of the living room in the same house. The handmade furniture, from chairs to couch to coffee table and even the console in the corner next to the stone-hewn fireplace, gave the room a very homely, relaxing feel, which we can all agree is probably what Sentinel needed most at this point: a chance to fucking chill. A fire was flickering away as he sat back and watched the two most important women in his life hanging ornaments on the tree. Fresh one, too, if the needles scattered on the drape beneath it were any indication.
He might have been joining them in their efforts but at that very moment he looked quite content just watching. If Talon were still feeling the effects of the revelations from a couple hours earlier, it wasn't showing. From time to time, Cheyenne would turn to Sentinel and ask him where she should put a particular ornament and he'd point out a spot on the tree, sometimes requring Talon to lift her up so she could reach it. It was a family effort and they were doing their best to enjoy the moment.
The young lady was having the easiest time with that particular task.
After a time, Sentinel's phone went off to the tune of "Dragonfly" and he rose from his seat, drawing the phone from his pocket. No question at all about who that was and the champion excused himself from the room and into the hallway before answering.
Sentinel: "What's up, Dragon?"
Even though all we hear is a chuckle, ten bucks says that the smirk is going on behind that phone.
Eric Donavan: "More than I got time to get into. Shit hit the goddamn fan over here, Dorian. Well beyond the bullshit Danika has been pulling."
Sentinel: "I doubt she's pulling anything but loose teeth after you kicked her lights out like that. You realize that Rivers is going to be uptight about that and so will his cronies, don't you?"
Eric Donavan: "I'm not a hard man to find if they want a piece of me. What's going on with the kid right now, though? Like I said...it's serious. Some heavy truth got dropped the other day and..."
The World Heavyweight Champion's expression hardens slightly.
Sentinel: "...and what?"
Eric Donavan: "I pulled some strings. I want him in the ring with you at Mayhem."
Okay, NOW his expression was hard. Stone-hard. STEEL-hard.
Sentinel: "The fuck did you do that for?!"
Thankfully his volume dropped before the f-bomb did. Can't go having his little girl hearing those kinds of words at her age. Eric, not one to let someone else's mindset rattle him, doesn't flinch figuratively or otherwise at Sentinel's retort.
Eric Donavan: "Because."
Sentinel: "NOT an answer."
Eric Donavan: "Because I don't trust myself to do it. Is that good enough for you? Or maybe because you'll do to him what needs to be done without letting feelings get in the way. Maybe..."
The Irish Dragon is cut off by the low, growling tone of the Destroyer.
Sentinel: "...MAYBE I'm not your spoiler, Eric. MAYBE I don't think this kid needs to have the hell beaten out of him like you do. He's your blood, man. Why can't YOU handle it?"
Not answering immediately, Eric can be assumed to be thinking hard on the other end of the line, maybe regretting putting his nephew in this situation. The situation, admittedly, isn't something we're aware of just yet. But it must be damn serious at this point if it has reached the level of Eric feeding Dean to the monstrous, gray-eyed demon that is the UWA World Heavyweight Champion.
Another pregnant pause ensues, then...
Eric Donavan: "I'm not saying do to him what you did to Cronos..."
Sentinel's expression tenses slightly, a shadow passing over his face.
Eric Donavan: "...I'm saying go out there and do what you do best. That's all."
Sentinel: "After you build it up like that? What the hell is going on, Eric?"
Eric Donavan: "I don't want to talk about it here. We'll discuss it before Mayhem."
Sentinel: "You'd better be damn sure about what you're doing, man. For Dean's sake AND yours."
Silence. Then...
Eric Donavan: "I know what I'm doing."
And with that, Eric hangs up. Sentinel doesn't turn before he lowers the phone and speaks, his eyes still on the blank wall ahead of him.
Talon: "Eric's up to his intrigues again?"
Sentinel: "Guess there's no need to explain."
Talon: "Even if there were, I'd get it easily enough anyway. I know Eric better than most people do."
Talon steps in toward Sentinel, prompting him to put his large hands on her slender hips. She leans in the rest of the way, pressing herself against his broad chest. Concern and worry are etched on her features only at this moment...where he can't see them.
Sentinel: "What do you think?"
Talon: "Tough love. That's what he's doing. He knows he's better off letting someone neutral face off with the kid rather than anyone who might have an emotional attachment or a professional beef."
The champion snorts irritably.
Sentinel: "I don't have a problem with the kid, but if he's standing across the ring from me I have to treat him like anyone else."
Talon: "I guess Eric is counting on that. He must see good things for the kid in the future."
Sentinel: "Dean ain't his father."
Talon: "He doesn't have to be."
There's so much more she wants to say, written all over her face, but Talon can't bring herself to voice her concerns. She instead closes her eyes and stays in the moment for as long as she's able. Right now things are calm despite Eric's finagling. They're home, they're setting up for the holidays and Sentinel is, for all intents and purposes, calm.
Why ruin that?
Sentinel: "Did you call Rayne and Zachariah?"
She blinks and leans back, looking up at Sentinel.
Talon: "Did I...? Oh! Yes. Yes, I did. They should be here by this evening. Same with Alex and the others. Are we still flying in instead of taking the bus this time?"
Meeting his wife's bright green eyes seems to soothe Sentinel a bit, something Talon is inwardly thankful for.
Sentinel: "Easier that way. I don't want to lose any quality time by being a creature of habit."
Talon: "We can agree on that."
Rising on her toes, Talon presses her lips to Dorian's and they linger for several moments before parting, the former a bit breathless.
Talon: "We're going to finish up the tree. You coming?"
Sentinel: "You two go on without me. I'm going to scare up the portable camera and handle the matter of addressing Dean here and now. Get it out of my system while it's fresh."
Talon: "All right. Don't be long."
She leaves him with a smile and Sentinel watches her go, his expression impassive. Turning and heading on down the hall, he enters the room at the end, leading to another fade. Returning with the aforementioned portable set up across from him, Sentinel is shown in his workshop behind his home. Not far removed from before, Sentinel's hoodie has long been removed and he's in a tank top and jeans, wrapping his fists in tape as he stands near the heavy bag. The target still bears some of the wear and tear from the last time he tore into it prior to last week's Mayhem.
The champ is in a serious state, his eyes open a little wider than usual and the tension in his body causing his musculature to stand out more so than is normal. It's as if the conversation with Eric and his personal thoughts about the upcoming match and the circumstance surrounding it have conspired to create a vitrolic cocktail in his system. It's almost the same look he had whilst attempting to shatter the femur and tibia of Cronos not long prior. He brings the tape up to his teeth and rips the end off, smoothing it down before tossing the roll aside. Only then do his stone-gray eyes shift toward the camera.
Sentinel: "I don't know what you did, Dean, and it's probably better that way. You and I..."
He briefly gestures between himself and the camera.
Sentinel: "...we don't have a problem. Never have and if the Gods are kind we never will. It's probably obvious by now that I'm not the kind of person people go looking for issues with. That is, unless you're someone like Ashley Kenyon, and we all see how far that's gotten her lately. Nice shot you laid in across her face a couple weeks ago, by the way. Warmed my goddamn heart."
Feels like there should have been a smile or at least a smirk after that comment. But Sentinel remains flat of expression.
Sentinel: "But as you may or may not know, your calculating uncle has seen to it that you're across the ring from me at Mayhem. Again, I don't know why and I don't care why. It's none of my business. All I know is that you're my opponent..."
Flexing his wrapped hands a little, he suddenly clenches them tightly.
Sentinel: "...and that means bad things are going to happen."
He takes hold of the bag, one hand on each side, and steadies it where it had been swaying gently. Every bit of him wants to lace into the 100-pound, chain-hung bag, yet he's resisting that urge for unspoken reasons.
Sentinel: "For all the potential Eric and I see in you, Dean, getting thrown in the deep end like this is still too much, too soon. You've shown flashes of skill in your last few matches when Danika hasn't been fucking with your head, but the patience isn't there. You haven't put everything together just yet. When you do, you'll warrant being mentioned in the same breath as the more famous members of your family. I think that's a given. But those same people who reared you and are trying to guide you? They're putting a big damn shadow over your head, kid. You don't need that."
Considering his words for a moment as he stares at the bag, Sentinel exhales quietly.
Sentinel: "I ain't saying you should break away from Eric or not let him guide you, cause you won't find no better teacher than that other than the man who trained Eric himself. The guy cares about you and wants to see you make something of yourself in the business. You want that, too. You wanna be like your daddy but better. Lofty goals, those, but they ain't out of the question. You're just...not ready for that kind of pressure yet.
You need to put the idea outta your head of being the next Snake. Period. That ain't what you need to be. You need to be the first Dean Hemlen, get what I'm sayin'? Emulating your old man's style, his attitude and all that...that's cool. Incorporate it. Make it your own. But there will never be another Fanged Entity. Just like there'll never be another Irish Dragon or Silent Destroyer. Learn everything you can from the people you work with and who work with you. Then make it your own."
Shaking his head, he laughed dryly...seemingly at himself.
Sentinel: "Yeah, I'm one to preach, huh? The madman going around breaking people down in and out of the ring, so out of his goddamn skull that he can't see straight half the time. Really the kinda guy you oughta listen to, huh? Wouldn't fault ya for thinkin' that."
Turning just a little, Sentinel stares at the camera from behind a curtain of black hair which obscures most of his expression. His teeth are showing, though, and not in the manner of a smile. Static interferes, showing again Sentinel's assault of Cronos, his recent battles with Ashley Kenyon and other displays of violent power. The same is true in every clip:
Empty eyes. Strength beyond his norm.
Hatred. Fury.
A demon in human flesh.
Flickered back to the present, Sentinel has moved on to laying fists to the bag. They aren't heavy shots but the bag sways considerably on the heavy steel chains connecting it to the hook above. Did we miss him saying something? Did the camera fuck up for a moment or two? We don't know. But he's been at it for a few minutes at least...long enough for sweat to bead a little on his thickly-muscled arms and chest. He stops after a few more moments, catching the bag and holding it steady.
Sentinel: "But what am I saying? You probably do."
Sounds a lot like he doesn't give a damn either way.
Sentinel: "Won't change what happens at Mayhem, though. Against every opponent up to this point, you've stood well and gave as good as you got. That ain't happening in Madison. I'm not some lady-selling jackass like Silver Baron, a manipulator like Danika or some lippy, self-serving bitch like Ashley. I'm the motherfucking UWA World Heavyweight Champion."
WHAM!
Sentinel: "The Silent Destroyer."
BAM!
Sentinel: "The Gray-Eyed Demon."
WHAM!
Sentinel: "The Silence Behind the Violence."
The fourth blow slams the bag into the nearby wall hard enough to rattle some of the shelved items along that same wall. Sentinel lets the bag recoil and collide with him, not moving an inch. He puts his head against the battered leather, hands flexing and releasing several times before they come up to grasp it.
Sentinel: "And Eric's going to get exactly what he asked for. Sorry in advance, kid."
He goes back to lacing into the bag, letting the camera continue to record until its timer is up, bringing the scene to a close.
And where is the man himself? Not in sight at present but most likely nearby. It would stand to reason that that's the reason for her attempts at being quieter with her end of the conversation. We can hear someone speaking on the other end of the phone, but not well enough that we know what's being said. Talon stops at the kitchen window during a pause in the conversation, looking out past the deck and into the backyard where Sentinel himself is playing with their daughter Cheyenne. Where such a sight should have brought a smile to Talon's face, it instead makes her look even more intense. She cuts off the other person mid-sentence with a less-than-pleasant edge in her voice.
Talon: "Rather than trying to throw all this medical terminology in my face, doctor, how about you simply tell me the truth? I'm not an idiot. I have medical training of my own and I can tell when someone is beating around the damn bush and trying to spare my feelings or some shit."
There's a pause before the person on the other end speaks again and Talon turns from the window, a hand going to her forehead as if due to a sudden bolt of pain.
Talon: "And for how long have you known this? I swear to God if you've been sitting on this...!"
We know, from the tone at least, that the person on the other end is trying to assuage Talon, perhaps to reassure her that this is indeed a recent discovery...whatever it is.
Talon: "Well, what the hell should we do, then?" What? No, not really...he's been about the same as usual. Well, except..."
The pacing has all but stopped and Talon, in a moment of remembrace, casts her attention to the ceiling. What she likely sees in her mind's eye is what we're shown, in black and white, from the previous Mayhem.
Cronos. Sentinel.
A piece of pipe.
Blood. Broken bones.
She shakes her head as the view returns to her, as if trying to shake the vision from her subconscious. She recalls the moment when Sentinel almost turned on her before he realized it was her who'd tried to stop him and shivered again.
Talon: "...he broke a man's leg a few nights ago for getting too close to me. Yes, legitimately. No, it was during Mayhem. They're treating it as an on-the-job thing."
The person on the other end, presumably Sentinel's doctor who was visited in his previous promo, speaks again as Talon again casts her gaze out the window. Cheyenne is laughing and chasing the ball across the yard as Sentinel, in the midst of her inattention, takes something from his pocket and shakes a few items from within it into his mouth. Talon's expression contorts unpleasantly.
Talon: "...did you perscribe him anything after seeing him last week? Because he hasn't said anything about it but I just saw him taking something. He tells me whenever he has some kind of medication because I'm better at reminding him about it than he is with dealing with it by himself. You're sure?"
Static cuts off the scene after a moment, taking us back to the previous promo referenced before. Sentinel, sitting at a table in a restaurant across from the person following and recording the events around him for the day. He takes the same pills from the same bottle in front of the man.
Cameraman: "Okay, I gotta ask...what are those?"
Sentinel: "Let's just say that they're what's making today possible and leave it at that."
Flashing back to Talon, she forces herself into a perceived state of calm. But we can all tell that she's simmering beneath the surface...not unlike Sentinel most often lately.
Talon: "Damn it. Then there's no telling where he got it. Fuck!"
She comes so very close to slamming her fist against the glass door but stops herself and forces another bout of calm upon herself despite the tremors in her right arm as the fingers loosen and she lowers her hand. Father and daughter are entirely unaware that they're being watched, the latter running into the arms of the former and being easily scooped up. Cheyenne finds herself, quite happily, perched on dad's shoulder with his massive left hand steadying her easily.
Talon watches this in silence, finding a great deal of uncertainty in the moment. She knows that this is the best mood she's seen out of her husband in weeks. While it conflicts heavily with his actions at the previous Mayhem and an upcoming title defense in the new year, the man looks genuinely happy and so does the little girl on his shoulder. The conflict is wracking her but you'd never know it to hear her talk in that particular moment or to see the eerie mask of contentment she's affecting.
Talon: "I'll keep an eye on him as best I can. Is there anything else I should look for besides the mood swings, violent tendencies and short-term memory issues?"
Listening for a few seconds, she nods slightly to herself.
Talon: "All right. Set up an appointment for the 28th. We'll be there if I have to drag him."
Hanging up with a loud beep, Talon taps the phone against her arm as they're crossed beneath her chest. There's plenty on her mind, yet nothing she can bring herself to say as she walks away from the window. The scene fades on father and daughter in the yard, returning moments later (for us), with a shot of the living room in the same house. The handmade furniture, from chairs to couch to coffee table and even the console in the corner next to the stone-hewn fireplace, gave the room a very homely, relaxing feel, which we can all agree is probably what Sentinel needed most at this point: a chance to fucking chill. A fire was flickering away as he sat back and watched the two most important women in his life hanging ornaments on the tree. Fresh one, too, if the needles scattered on the drape beneath it were any indication.
He might have been joining them in their efforts but at that very moment he looked quite content just watching. If Talon were still feeling the effects of the revelations from a couple hours earlier, it wasn't showing. From time to time, Cheyenne would turn to Sentinel and ask him where she should put a particular ornament and he'd point out a spot on the tree, sometimes requring Talon to lift her up so she could reach it. It was a family effort and they were doing their best to enjoy the moment.
The young lady was having the easiest time with that particular task.
After a time, Sentinel's phone went off to the tune of "Dragonfly" and he rose from his seat, drawing the phone from his pocket. No question at all about who that was and the champion excused himself from the room and into the hallway before answering.
Sentinel: "What's up, Dragon?"
Even though all we hear is a chuckle, ten bucks says that the smirk is going on behind that phone.
Eric Donavan: "More than I got time to get into. Shit hit the goddamn fan over here, Dorian. Well beyond the bullshit Danika has been pulling."
Sentinel: "I doubt she's pulling anything but loose teeth after you kicked her lights out like that. You realize that Rivers is going to be uptight about that and so will his cronies, don't you?"
Eric Donavan: "I'm not a hard man to find if they want a piece of me. What's going on with the kid right now, though? Like I said...it's serious. Some heavy truth got dropped the other day and..."
The World Heavyweight Champion's expression hardens slightly.
Sentinel: "...and what?"
Eric Donavan: "I pulled some strings. I want him in the ring with you at Mayhem."
Okay, NOW his expression was hard. Stone-hard. STEEL-hard.
Sentinel: "The fuck did you do that for?!"
Thankfully his volume dropped before the f-bomb did. Can't go having his little girl hearing those kinds of words at her age. Eric, not one to let someone else's mindset rattle him, doesn't flinch figuratively or otherwise at Sentinel's retort.
Eric Donavan: "Because."
Sentinel: "NOT an answer."
Eric Donavan: "Because I don't trust myself to do it. Is that good enough for you? Or maybe because you'll do to him what needs to be done without letting feelings get in the way. Maybe..."
The Irish Dragon is cut off by the low, growling tone of the Destroyer.
Sentinel: "...MAYBE I'm not your spoiler, Eric. MAYBE I don't think this kid needs to have the hell beaten out of him like you do. He's your blood, man. Why can't YOU handle it?"
Not answering immediately, Eric can be assumed to be thinking hard on the other end of the line, maybe regretting putting his nephew in this situation. The situation, admittedly, isn't something we're aware of just yet. But it must be damn serious at this point if it has reached the level of Eric feeding Dean to the monstrous, gray-eyed demon that is the UWA World Heavyweight Champion.
Another pregnant pause ensues, then...
Eric Donavan: "I'm not saying do to him what you did to Cronos..."
Sentinel's expression tenses slightly, a shadow passing over his face.
Eric Donavan: "...I'm saying go out there and do what you do best. That's all."
Sentinel: "After you build it up like that? What the hell is going on, Eric?"
Eric Donavan: "I don't want to talk about it here. We'll discuss it before Mayhem."
Sentinel: "You'd better be damn sure about what you're doing, man. For Dean's sake AND yours."
Silence. Then...
Eric Donavan: "I know what I'm doing."
And with that, Eric hangs up. Sentinel doesn't turn before he lowers the phone and speaks, his eyes still on the blank wall ahead of him.
Talon: "Eric's up to his intrigues again?"
Sentinel: "Guess there's no need to explain."
Talon: "Even if there were, I'd get it easily enough anyway. I know Eric better than most people do."
Talon steps in toward Sentinel, prompting him to put his large hands on her slender hips. She leans in the rest of the way, pressing herself against his broad chest. Concern and worry are etched on her features only at this moment...where he can't see them.
Sentinel: "What do you think?"
Talon: "Tough love. That's what he's doing. He knows he's better off letting someone neutral face off with the kid rather than anyone who might have an emotional attachment or a professional beef."
The champion snorts irritably.
Sentinel: "I don't have a problem with the kid, but if he's standing across the ring from me I have to treat him like anyone else."
Talon: "I guess Eric is counting on that. He must see good things for the kid in the future."
Sentinel: "Dean ain't his father."
Talon: "He doesn't have to be."
There's so much more she wants to say, written all over her face, but Talon can't bring herself to voice her concerns. She instead closes her eyes and stays in the moment for as long as she's able. Right now things are calm despite Eric's finagling. They're home, they're setting up for the holidays and Sentinel is, for all intents and purposes, calm.
Why ruin that?
Sentinel: "Did you call Rayne and Zachariah?"
She blinks and leans back, looking up at Sentinel.
Talon: "Did I...? Oh! Yes. Yes, I did. They should be here by this evening. Same with Alex and the others. Are we still flying in instead of taking the bus this time?"
Meeting his wife's bright green eyes seems to soothe Sentinel a bit, something Talon is inwardly thankful for.
Sentinel: "Easier that way. I don't want to lose any quality time by being a creature of habit."
Talon: "We can agree on that."
Rising on her toes, Talon presses her lips to Dorian's and they linger for several moments before parting, the former a bit breathless.
Talon: "We're going to finish up the tree. You coming?"
Sentinel: "You two go on without me. I'm going to scare up the portable camera and handle the matter of addressing Dean here and now. Get it out of my system while it's fresh."
Talon: "All right. Don't be long."
She leaves him with a smile and Sentinel watches her go, his expression impassive. Turning and heading on down the hall, he enters the room at the end, leading to another fade. Returning with the aforementioned portable set up across from him, Sentinel is shown in his workshop behind his home. Not far removed from before, Sentinel's hoodie has long been removed and he's in a tank top and jeans, wrapping his fists in tape as he stands near the heavy bag. The target still bears some of the wear and tear from the last time he tore into it prior to last week's Mayhem.
The champ is in a serious state, his eyes open a little wider than usual and the tension in his body causing his musculature to stand out more so than is normal. It's as if the conversation with Eric and his personal thoughts about the upcoming match and the circumstance surrounding it have conspired to create a vitrolic cocktail in his system. It's almost the same look he had whilst attempting to shatter the femur and tibia of Cronos not long prior. He brings the tape up to his teeth and rips the end off, smoothing it down before tossing the roll aside. Only then do his stone-gray eyes shift toward the camera.
Sentinel: "I don't know what you did, Dean, and it's probably better that way. You and I..."
He briefly gestures between himself and the camera.
Sentinel: "...we don't have a problem. Never have and if the Gods are kind we never will. It's probably obvious by now that I'm not the kind of person people go looking for issues with. That is, unless you're someone like Ashley Kenyon, and we all see how far that's gotten her lately. Nice shot you laid in across her face a couple weeks ago, by the way. Warmed my goddamn heart."
Feels like there should have been a smile or at least a smirk after that comment. But Sentinel remains flat of expression.
Sentinel: "But as you may or may not know, your calculating uncle has seen to it that you're across the ring from me at Mayhem. Again, I don't know why and I don't care why. It's none of my business. All I know is that you're my opponent..."
Flexing his wrapped hands a little, he suddenly clenches them tightly.
Sentinel: "...and that means bad things are going to happen."
He takes hold of the bag, one hand on each side, and steadies it where it had been swaying gently. Every bit of him wants to lace into the 100-pound, chain-hung bag, yet he's resisting that urge for unspoken reasons.
Sentinel: "For all the potential Eric and I see in you, Dean, getting thrown in the deep end like this is still too much, too soon. You've shown flashes of skill in your last few matches when Danika hasn't been fucking with your head, but the patience isn't there. You haven't put everything together just yet. When you do, you'll warrant being mentioned in the same breath as the more famous members of your family. I think that's a given. But those same people who reared you and are trying to guide you? They're putting a big damn shadow over your head, kid. You don't need that."
Considering his words for a moment as he stares at the bag, Sentinel exhales quietly.
Sentinel: "I ain't saying you should break away from Eric or not let him guide you, cause you won't find no better teacher than that other than the man who trained Eric himself. The guy cares about you and wants to see you make something of yourself in the business. You want that, too. You wanna be like your daddy but better. Lofty goals, those, but they ain't out of the question. You're just...not ready for that kind of pressure yet.
You need to put the idea outta your head of being the next Snake. Period. That ain't what you need to be. You need to be the first Dean Hemlen, get what I'm sayin'? Emulating your old man's style, his attitude and all that...that's cool. Incorporate it. Make it your own. But there will never be another Fanged Entity. Just like there'll never be another Irish Dragon or Silent Destroyer. Learn everything you can from the people you work with and who work with you. Then make it your own."
Shaking his head, he laughed dryly...seemingly at himself.
Sentinel: "Yeah, I'm one to preach, huh? The madman going around breaking people down in and out of the ring, so out of his goddamn skull that he can't see straight half the time. Really the kinda guy you oughta listen to, huh? Wouldn't fault ya for thinkin' that."
Turning just a little, Sentinel stares at the camera from behind a curtain of black hair which obscures most of his expression. His teeth are showing, though, and not in the manner of a smile. Static interferes, showing again Sentinel's assault of Cronos, his recent battles with Ashley Kenyon and other displays of violent power. The same is true in every clip:
Empty eyes. Strength beyond his norm.
Hatred. Fury.
A demon in human flesh.
Flickered back to the present, Sentinel has moved on to laying fists to the bag. They aren't heavy shots but the bag sways considerably on the heavy steel chains connecting it to the hook above. Did we miss him saying something? Did the camera fuck up for a moment or two? We don't know. But he's been at it for a few minutes at least...long enough for sweat to bead a little on his thickly-muscled arms and chest. He stops after a few more moments, catching the bag and holding it steady.
Sentinel: "But what am I saying? You probably do."
Sounds a lot like he doesn't give a damn either way.
Sentinel: "Won't change what happens at Mayhem, though. Against every opponent up to this point, you've stood well and gave as good as you got. That ain't happening in Madison. I'm not some lady-selling jackass like Silver Baron, a manipulator like Danika or some lippy, self-serving bitch like Ashley. I'm the motherfucking UWA World Heavyweight Champion."
WHAM!
Sentinel: "The Silent Destroyer."
BAM!
Sentinel: "The Gray-Eyed Demon."
WHAM!
Sentinel: "The Silence Behind the Violence."
The fourth blow slams the bag into the nearby wall hard enough to rattle some of the shelved items along that same wall. Sentinel lets the bag recoil and collide with him, not moving an inch. He puts his head against the battered leather, hands flexing and releasing several times before they come up to grasp it.
Sentinel: "And Eric's going to get exactly what he asked for. Sorry in advance, kid."
He goes back to lacing into the bag, letting the camera continue to record until its timer is up, bringing the scene to a close.
