Post by Sentinel on Mar 5, 2014 12:56:53 GMT -6
- SCENE ONE -
LOCATION: Reno Events Center, Reno, NV - Backstage
TIME: Friday, February 23rd, 2014, 11:19pm
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Talon, Zachariah Blood, Lady Rayne
"We never understood chaos...until it was the only world we'd ever known."
The words appear in white, wavering into view as though seen through rain-disturbed water. Ripples slowly recede and allow clarity long enough for the message to sink in before it fades out like smoke from a dying candle. The darkness follows suit, leaving us with a clear view of the locker room designated for use by Sentinel and his brood, The Unforgiven. It's mere minutes after the main event of Tragic Engagement and as the world knows by now, the Silent Destroyer fell short of history. Forget about the winner and the loser and put from one's mind the scene that removed Nick Daniels from the equation. Forget everything you thought you knew considering the four-fronted war which left Reno on its feet during the final minutes and moments.
Before door even opens, before a thought is given to putting hand to knob, the shouting is apparent from the hallway. Angry voices belonging to three out of four of The Unforgiven are raging, mingling into a cacophony of accents and furious babbling. Irish and Cajun are hard enough when they aren't mitigated, but couple that with anger and the edge in Rayne's non-accented tones and you just have chaos. Plain and simple. The door? It isn't pushed open so much as it's kicked open. The metal knob bangs off the painted wall, no doubt dinging it up something fierce. Talon is the first to enter and it's her heel that's dented the metal in her furious method of entry. Zachariah is following in her wake, trying to rub the images from his eyes when he's not threatening to pull his own hair out. Rayne? She's just looking for the first poor soul to draw her ire so she can put that polished black cane to use.
So...what about Sentinel?
The Silence Behind the Violence is living up to half of that moniker as he wanders through the door in the wake of his companions. His still-taped hand is cupping his jaw slightly, still feeling the effects of Pauly dropping with it in grip. But that's considerably minor pain when he thinks about it. The others, still raging, pay no attention to his entry...which is fair since he walks past them, Talon included, without a glance. He grabs a towel from his bag on the way, grabbing a bottle of beer from the ice-filled bucket sitting on the counter. He holds the condensating brown bottle to his brow, head tilted back and eyes closed. Is he tuning them out? Are they even aware that he's there? It's hard to tell. He puts the edge of the lid to the countertop and smacks it to make the metal cap pop off. Taking a long draw, he sets it down on the counter and stares at the cream-colored surface resting between his hands. The chaos is starting to quell a little now...but all that really means is only one person is talking.
Zachariah Blood: "...luckiest motherfuckers on the goddamn planet! I swear to God, if that bitch drops one snarky syllable after she fluked into that motherfucking title, I will tear her goddamn tonsils out through her stinking twat!"
Well...isn't HE pleasant?
Talon: "Zachariah, shut the fuck up. Do you have ANY idea how sick I am of hearing you rant and rave? Why in the hell are you even here right now? What happened to taking it easy until the doctors tell you otherwise? That was what we agreed upon. I guess my sister has decided she'd rather slack off instead of doing her job."
Lady Rayne: "Oh, don't you DARE turn this on me, Ren!"
Rayne had been pacing back and forth, trying to find some kind of center in the chaos...minus the sound of her slapping the business end of her cane into her left palm over and over. But when big sister Talon called her out she whirled like a top, glaring at her.
Lady Rayne: "He has a right to be here, just like I do! In case you forgot, we're a team!"
Talon: "And part of being a team is taking care of our own, Rayne. HIM being here..."
Talon points sharply at Zachariah, who looks like he wants to bite that finger off, nail and all.
Talon: "...proves that you're not looking out for the team NOR are you doing your duties as his supposed Mistress!"
Zachariah Blood: "Yeah, you can go fuck yourself, Talon."
Lady Rayne: "How dare you question my methods! Not all of us get to sit back and do the easy job of running mouths without consequence! If this is such a family matter, then why is Savannah with a babysitter while you're here doing a job that Zachariah is more than capable of?!"
Talon: "You arrogant little bitch...!"
Warm and fuzzies all over the goddamn place. Sentinel has lifted his head by now, staring into the mirror, seemingly into his own eyes. He lifts the bottle for another sip of barley and hops...a long one. He sets it down with a sharp thump, one that's drowned out by the bitching to his rear. By now, Rayne is pointing her cane at her sister threateningly.
Lady Rayne: "...know good and damn well that it's the Order's fault that he's like he is now! You don't get to pass judgment on shit you weren't around for!"
Talon: "Maybe if you two and that little shit-stain Tyler Harrison hadn't tried to sabotage every-damn-thing he'd be in ring right now."
One touch against Talon's chest is all the cane makes before she rips it from Rayne's hand and throws it across the room with a clatter. Blood starts toward her while Rayne just glares.
Talon: "The agreement was that Zachariah did the talking while I took care of the behind-the-scenes details and you handled matters in person. Then he goes and gets his head damn near bashed in again and as a result I had to step in. Cold turkey. Without a proper plan or even an idea of what the hell was supposed to happen if the situation changed. THAT is not on Nick Daniels and his grimy bitch! It's on YOU!"
Zachariah Blood: "Me?!"
Talon: "You're damn right! Once upon a time that bastard wouldn't have gotten close to you! You've fallen off and you know it!"
Lady Rayne: "You don't get to speak to him like that!"
...and we're back to the chaos from before the moment. How peculiar that the one with the most reason to be angry is as calm as stone. Sentinel finishes the beer and reaches for another one but finds himself staring at the bottle instead of opening it. The label, the indentations of the brown glass, the dripping moisture...it becomes like a moment from the movie version of Constantine: time slows to a crawl. A second takes forever. A single, globular drop of clear moisture falls from the bottle and takes an eternity to hit the smooth counter. Though they're caught in the same figurative warp in time. the anger fairly emanates from the other three.
In the time it takes for a second drop to fall from bottle to counter, Sentinel's eyes move to his reflection again. He observes his bruised countenance, feels the wracked state of his body after a wickedly-violent match, sees the disappointment in his own eyes and feels...well, who's to say how he feels? Has anyone bothered to ask him anything about the state of mind or being that he's in? Have they even realized that he's there? Does he exist in their world of blame and histrionics?
...no.
Talon: "...going to do a damn thing about it. Either of you!"
Zachariah Blood: "...from smacking the shit out of you!"
Lady Rayne: "...the right to read us the Riot Act!"
None of them. Not once. Time comes back to a more stable pace and Sentinel is staring at the bottle again. The tightening of his grip is barely perceptible at first before we see the tremor in his hand. His jaw sets and teeth show beneath slightly-parted lips. In two seconds, several things happen in near-perfect sync:
*KSSSSSHHHH!*
The unopened bottle is hurled toward the wall behind the other three, smashing into many a jagged piece and sending a spray of spirits against the wall and into the air.
The rest of the group stops as they suddenly have to cover up from the explosion of beer and glass.
Sentinel turns to face the assemblage, his stare beyond what we would even call withering. The old saying about looks and killing seems abotu to be proven true in a literal fashion.
But most importantly, there is silence. For a second.
Talon: "What the...?"
Zachariah Blood: "The fuck was that about?!"
Lady Rayne: "When did he even come in?!"
Obviously, Sentinel says nothing, but never has his silence said more than it does right now. It practically screams, threatening to tear down the walls. He grabs his bag and heads for the door, sliding the strap over his shoulder and, while he's not hurrying, his pace is direct and steady. Rayne and Blood look to each other for a moment in confusion then back to him.
Lady Rayne: "Whoa, wait a minute! The hell are you going all of a sudden?! We got things to talk about!"
Rayne reaches out, taking hold of Sentinel's forearm. He jerks it out of her grip and she flinches back as though expecting to be struck. Zachariah seems to think the same is coming and his protective instinct where Rayne is concerned kicks up. He moves in toward the Silent Destroyer and tries to forcefully turn him to face his partner.
Zachariah Blood: "Don't even think about taking this out on-ghhk!"
The threat is strangled in Blood's throat as Sentinel grabs him around it, lifting him literally off the floor, his legs swinging slightly. He glares into the eyes of his partner until Talon steps forward, almost frantic.
Talon: "Baby, NO! Put him down!"
A full-body shiver passes through Sentinel when Talon puts her hands on his arm, trying to will him into letting go of the Masochist. He bares his teeth, breaths hissing through them before he shoves Blood back, sending him clambering onto the sofa. Rayne is at his side within a second as he starts to cough violently. Talon looks to her sister and her charge, then turns back to Sentinel, seeking his eyes.
But Sentinel sees nothing.
Talon: "Please, calm down..."
For just a second the monster seems to calm down. He blinks and turns to Talon, looking at her for a moment...then pulls away from her and walks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Immediately we freeze on the other three: the gasping Blood, looking after the closed door like he'd seen the Devil himself, Rayne as well staring in that direction in awe and Talon...a blank slate. The scene cuts to black.
- SCENE TWO -
LOCATION: Memorial Park, Pasadena, CA
TIME: Thursday, March 6th, 2014, 1:30pm
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Stranger
It's more than a week later before anyone, including the rest of The Unforgiven, see Sentinel. And even then, it seems like pure luck that leads him to be discovered in the first place. On a sunny, comfortably warm afternoon in Pasadena's Memorial Park, the Silence Behind the Violence is seated on a bench staring at nothing. People wander by on walks or jogs, riding bicycles, skating or even skateboarding. It's a typical, relaxing day for most of them. To them, Sentinel doesn't exist and he seems to prefer it that way. The black leather vest with the demon skull on the back sits well over a white tee on his thickly-muscular frame, the look completed by jeans and Harley boots. His long, blue-black hair is hanging loose, tossed a bit by the breeze though a pair of Gargoyles keeps them out of his eyes at least.
Leaned forward with his hands clasped between his legs and his head down, Sentinel isn't aware that someone else has come up to the bench until they gently clear their throat. Even then it takes a moment for him to register that his rumination has been interrupted. He turns hidden eyes upon the older, tattered-looking gentleman. His attire has seen much wear but there's no shortage of vitality in the twinkling eyes hidden beneath crow's feet and bushy hair. He gestures to the bench with a half-smile.
Stranger: "Mind some comp'ny, fella?"
Taken aback but not without manners, Sentinel gestures for the old man to sit.
Stranger: "Thanks. Been a long day a'ready."
From the way he eases himself down on the iron-framed wood, the old fellow gives away what a life of hard work does to a person. Sentinel is still watching him as he speaks again, his eyes briefly closed.
Stranger: "Your mind looks about as heavy as my old bones right about this point. Somethin' is weighin' on ya, son, and it looks ready to crush ya. You're too young for that kinda mess, ain't ya?"
Snorting slightly, Sentinel goes back to staring at the ground. Without turning toward the big man, the stranger's eyes open and turn in that direction.
Stranger: "Lemme guess here...you're worryin' over somethin' to do with family, maybe? Some kinda setback that's got ya questionin' whether ya made the right choices in your life? Or maybe ya just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. From the looks of ya, you probably broke the damn thing in the process."
Sentinel can't help it...a slight smirk break through the stony facade. If the old man sees this, he doesn't indicate such.
Stranger: "I suppose this here's the point where I give ya some kind of old sayin' that's supposed to lift spirits an' all that. Somethin' 'bout the Lord not givin' us a bigger burden than we can carry or 'bout how it's always darkest 'fore the dawn, right? I mean, that's standard, ain't it?"
Sentinel shrugs his shoulders, looking over at the stranger who returns the gaze.
Stranger: "Well, it ain't happenin'. All those old idioms are a buncha crap."
How about that...Sentinel came that close to cracking a smile. Close, but not quite.
Stranger: "Ain't a one of 'em never helped no one get through a divorce, or get over losin' a loved one or deal with the stress that comes with losin' a job. Take it from someone who's taken dang near everything life can throw at 'em, kid: the people who'd spit that crap at ya, they've never dealt with the same stuff as you. No one has. An' ya know why? Cause we're all different. Two people dealin' with the same thing ain't gonna handle it with the same. Empathy is bull. They can relate to the event, not how ya feel."
Something about the stranger has Sentinel's rapt attention. The old man doesn't realize that he's rambling till he looks back toward the big man and notices him staring.
Stranger: "Went off on a tangent, did I?"
Gesturing as if to say he doesn't mind, Sentinel sits back against the bench with his large arms bent and resting upon it. The old man eyes him a bit more closely, making up his mind about something.
Stranger: "Not much of a talker, are ya?"
Another shrug from the Silent Destroyer, which makes the old man chuckle.
Stranger: "The world could use more like ya, kid. Too many people think it's all about what ya say. It ain't. It's about what ya do. No sense in talkin' unless you got somethin' important to say. 'Course, that means I shouldn't be flappin' 'my gums like this, but seein' as how you don't appear to mind so much..."
Sentinel smirks slightly again.
Stranger: "...I guess there ain't no harm. Just two guys shootin' the shit, right?"
They sit quietly for a little while after that. Some people give the old man looks as they pass...looks of aversion and some bordering on disgust. If it bothers him, he says nothing. Is he perhaps used to it or does he know something they don't? A few of the pedestrians look at Sentinel as though they wonder what's wrong with HIM, too. The few that meet his masked gaze, though, quickly look away and pick up their pace. The stranger watches him for a bit longer before speaking anew.
Stranger: "For the record, I know who ya are."
A black brow pops up over the several-hundred-dollar sunglasses, getting a smile out of the old guy.
Stranger: "Every once in a while I hear things 'bout the wrestling stuff. Word is that you guys're in town in a few nights, yeah? Folks seem excited to have somethin' to do. Even caught some conversation 'bout you personally an' based on that, I'm guessin' I know what has ya riled. It just don't make no sense to me."
Sentinel gives the stranger a look now, sliding the sunglasses off to reveal his stone-gray eyes. It seems so odd to him that the guy claims that 'it don't make no sense' to him when, to Sentinel, it's pretty cut and dry.
Stranger: "The hell's a loss, fella? It ain't like you never lost before, so why's it a big deal all of a sudden? Cause you ain't got no ten-pound belt to lug around and have every airport security guy make a big deal out of? Way I hear it, you wasn't even made t'lose directly, so that's somethin'. My thought were I in your spot? I'd be tellin' that girl that she ain't beat ya yet, that till she puts yer shoulders down to that mat for three, she's just on borrowed time. 'Course, I don't follow the shows all the time...y'all ain't exactly on television or anything. I'm just goin' by what sounds right based on my personal experience."
Personal experience? Sentinel points at the man questioninly and gets a nod in response.
Stranger: "Many a year ago, fella. Didn't never get beyond a few local shows and towns, but I was in the game for...oh, about six, seven years? Somethin' like that. Once it stopped bein' fun, I helped a few other guys get into the business an' then fell on some hard times. 'Cept I'd put it all into the business. Back then, I did a lotta dreamin'. Now, reality sits on my shoulder like a goddamn talkin' cricket.
Somehow, I don't see that happenin' with you, though. Call it a hunch. Otherwise, why would ya even be here waitin' for the bell, am I right? You'd be back home, wherever that is for ya, lookin' to do somethin' else with your life. Bein' that your young, that ain't outta the question 'cept that you don't look like no quitter. It don't matter that you're facin' some new kid you done whipped an' the girl that lucked past ya alongside a guy that ya probably don't like, a shitty situation if I ever heard it. You're here. You're ready t'fight.
THAT...is what counts."
Giving a slight nod, Sentinel stares ahead of him again as he draws in a deep breath. The old guy stands up from the bench and stretches, drawing a few pops from his back. There's a wince, then a sigh of relief.
Stranger: "Don't let this crap bring ya down, kid. And more important, don't let no one get in yer way, whether they're on yer side or not. Ain't talkin' about castin' off everyone and goin' at it on yer own cause everybody needs somebody. Just...when it comes time to get things done, there's a time for fightin' and though ya might not like it there's a time for talkin', too.
Just you remember that didn't no one beat you, hear? No one put your shoulders down for three, no one made you give up. Ain't no one here done that yet, kid. Screw semantics and record books. You know that. Shouldn't no one have to tell ya. A loss is one thing an' ya can't say that didn't happen. But you didn't get BEAT. That's important to remember. As for yer partner, well...what can ya say about a guy like that? Make use of him an' if he tries to short-stick ya, just beat his ass again."
He looks like he might laugh, but instead the Silent Destroyer merely nods.
Stranger: "An' maybe this time? Maybe this time...you do it yourself. Win, lose or draw on yer lonesome. See how that works out. I don't know what this business with the people yer workin' for is an' I ain't tellin' ya t'ditch family but...y'know...test the waters. See how they feel. Might surprise y'self. The Pauly kid's tough but you can handle 'im. The girl showin' up with the belt proved 'erself but every win's pushin' her closer to that first loss. But her...ya ain't gotta make 'er lose, kid. You gotta beat 'er. Make it count, hear?"
Nodding again, Sentinel rises and the stranger gets a real look at how big he is. All six-and-a-half feet and 280-plus pounds. He looks...almost awestruck.
Stranger: "Fuckin' tower o' flesh ya are! Heh...well, I best be gettin' back. Where ya headin'?"
Sentinel gestures for the stranger to lead the way, which he does. They walk in silence though, more looks shot in both their directions...looks that're ignored by and large. Presntly they come to a bridge under which there's, for lack of a better term, something of an enclave of homeless folks. Sentinel stops when the old man does, right before the shadows of the bridge take over. Realization sets in quickly but the Silent Destroyer's expression doesn't change much. Perhaps he already had an inkling.
Stranger: "It ain't much, but it's home. Thanks for seein' me here. Folks tend to try an' make trouble when we come outta our little home here."
The old man hardly sounds bothered but he does sound grateful. Sentinel nods slightly, his hand sliding into his pocket. He takes something out and presses it into the stranger's hand. Now, call it pride or something else, but the stranger tries to hand it back.
Stranger: "None o' that now, big fella. That ain't why I sat with ya an' chewed the fat."
Sentinel is having none of it. He closes the man's fingers around the semi-thick stack of bills and the card he slipped into them. It's that which gets the man's attention more than the money, though the latter is a considerable amount...must have been all that the Silent Destroyer had on him. The old man looks at the card, then up at Sentinel with a raised brow.
Sentinel's response is a simple nod.
Stranger: "I think I get what you're sayin', so t'speak."
Shaking the man's hand firmly, Sentinel leaves down the path he'd come, leaving the old guy to look curiously at the card before putting it into his pocket along with the folded bills before he slips under the bridge and back into the shadows.
Fade to black.
- END -
