Post by Sentinel on Apr 15, 2014 11:11:29 GMT -6
- SCENE ONE -
LOCATION: Deschutes Brewery - Portland, Oregon
TIME: Tuesday, April 15th, 2014, 7:03pm
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Zachariah Blood
All around him the pub is bustling with activity, from folks sharing meals with friends to servers darting about with drinks and platters filled to the brim or edge as the case may be. In the middle of it all, an island unto himself, sits Sentinel. His large frame is perched upon a bar stool, a pint of one of the local brews set before him and about half-gone already. Never known as a social creature, it is surprising to see him within this writhing mass of jovial humanity but less so when it appears that his attention is on his phone. A peek over his shoulder reveals his viewing selection for the evening as the recent tirade by one Broderick Montgomery III. Stone-faced, Sentinel watches through to the end, the earbuds supplying him with sound over the pub's din.
So locked into the monologue is he that he barely notices when someone comes up and takes a seat next to him. It takes a few moments before he glances over, yet he's immediately taken aback when he sees who's sitting there. Zachariah Blood, staring straight ahead with a flat look on his face, makes no attempt to communicate with the Silent Destroyer until he feels those cold gray eyes staring. The bartender comes over before that happens and true to form Zachariah merely orders a club soda, not about to break his straight-edge vow no matter the situation. The glass is set before him, garnished with a lime as Sentinel just shakes his head and downs the rest of his pint. He gestures for another before putting his Galaxy 5 away and just...waiting. A fresh brew is delivered and Zachariah, after a deep breath, holds his glass toward his former partner. Sentinel reciprocates and the two tap vessels before drawing a long drink each.
Zachariah Blood: "So...we need to talk. Rather, I need to talk and you need to listen."
Sentinel smiles thinly, almost imperceptibly. Zachariah eyes him peripherally and takes another sip of his drink before diving right in.
Zachariah Blood: "Doctor says I'm done indefinitely. Went in to get shit checked out a few days ago and he dropped that fucker of a bomb on me. And before you ask, Rayne don't know yet and neither does Talon. I'm not ready to tell them."
It looked like the Silent Destroyer was about to do just that...but he didn't. It's obvious that the news has taken him by surprise though. He stares at the glass before him, at a loss for words that wouldn't have come anyway. After so long as the man's partner, Zachariah doesn't need to hear a response. He can tell what Sentinel is thinking.
Zachariah Blood: "It is what it is. That's how concussions go. That kind of shit sobers a person up, when they tell you that another shot to the head could put your lights out. Rayne's gonna flip the fuck out."
Turning to Zachariah, Sentinel gives him a look as if to say 'and you think I'm not'? Blood snorts and downs another gulp of the club soda.
Zachariah Blood: "Yeah, I know."
The pair sit in silence for several moments. Sentinel eventually takes his phone back out but passes it toward Blood. He looks to the device for a moment then back at his massive associate with a questioning stare. Tossing the earbuds his way, Sentinel indicates that Zachariah should take a listen and so he does.
Briefly the scene fades to black and returns with the two men standing outside the pub. Sentinel is leaned back against the wall, black t-shirt and vest over his worn blue jeans, his eyes on the dark horizon. Zachariah in his usual mesh top and cargo pants, finally hands the phone back over to Sentinel with a shake of his head.
Zachariah Blood: "Motherfucker's lost his damn mind. He don't realize that he's getting off light right now. If it were me, I've have tossed his bitch and pissed on her corpse, laughing the whole damn while. Once upon a time, you'd have done the same thing, man. So...why didn't you? Not like she means anything to you. Certainly not as much as Talon. She's collateral damage, plain and simple. And who the fuck spells their name like that anyway?"
The Silent Destroyer shakes his head, another slight smile creeping up. There's a slight nod of agreement at Blood's assertion that back in the day he'd have left Jeszika paraplegic...but a negative gesture when she's referred to as collateral damage.
Zachariah Blood: "No? You know something I don't?"
Sentinel's expression first says 'plenty', something that gets a snort out of Zachariah. But then he nods slightly as a more proper response.
Zachariah Blood: "Fair enough. So what about this new girl you got doing your verbal work? Got anything to tell me about her?"
Another negative shake of the head from Sentinel, his expression darkening. Something about the situation irritates him but regardless, he's not the type to vent.
Zachariah Blood: "Look, I get that you have to work with what's available, but you could've called me or Rayne, man. I'm...I ain't good at this meaningful bullshit. I'd rather put my knee through someone's skull than fuck with feelings and all that mushy crap. I don't give two shits about more than three or four people on this planet and wouldn't give a damn if the rest dropped dead.
But you and I have been down the roads for a long time. The USA, Europe, Asia...we've been all over the place. Kicking ass, winning titles and putting anyone they stood before us through hell. We've got enough bodies laying in our wake to fill a goddamn swimming pool and every fucking lawn chair sitting around it. Ain't no one else I can say that about and now, knowing that it's all but over for me..."
It's a strange moment: Zachariah isn't known for his emotions. Hell, the man smiles about as much as Sentinel speaks. But at this moment he looks human and it's hard to take. Sentinel places a heavy hand on the shoulder of one of his few friends and lets it be at just that. It's enough for both of them, so cognizant of one another that words aren't necessary on either side.
Lowering that hand after a moment, Sentinel accepts the phone back along with the earpieces and pockets them. Zachariah, hands in his pockets, stares straight ahead along with his friend and partner, musing quietly.
Zachariah Blood: "So...was that message you dropped on me a few days ago for real?"
The big man nods once.
Zachariah Blood: "She all right with that shit?"
Sentinel shrugs, prompting a smirk from Blood.
Zachariah Blood: "Whether she does or doesn't. I get it. Way things are on my end, don't make no difference to me...you know, in the sense that I couldn't do anything about it if I wanted to. Tell you one damn thing, though:"
His brow elevates as the Silence Behind the Violence turns to Blood.
Zachariah Blood: "You fucking settle this shit...and you don't fucking show your face till you do."
Again, a single nod. A simple yet deadly serious gesture. Blood nods in return, pushing away from the wall.
Zachariah Blood: "Rayne's staying with Talon, as you wanted. I'll see you Sunday night."
Stepping out of the shot, Zachariah is soon gone, at which point Sentinel's phone audibly rings. He retrieves it and sweeps his finger across the screen to accept it. Obviously he says nothing but the person on the other end expected that. A few moments later he shuts the phone off and leaves as well. For a brief moment we hear the roar of his Harley before only the revelry within the brewery remains.
- SCENE TWO -
LOCATION: North Winning Way - Portland, Oregon
TIME: Wednesday, April 16th, 2014, 12:26am
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Mystery Woman
It isn't the Coliseum but instead the road that leads to it. Along this, Sentinel moves at a steady pace along the concrete path. A black hoodie has replaced the t-shirt from before but the demon-emblazoned leather vest is still worn on top as it was previously. Just a few paces before him, her steps as soft as the clouds above, is the woman who for the time being serves as the Silent Destroyer's mouthpiece. Hers is an amused tone as she speaks this evening, though whether that's a reflection of the big man's mood or manner isn't certain. His own hood is up too, masking his features.
Mystery Woman: "How does that saying go? Toss a brick into a crowd and the person it hits will make a noise? Something droll like that..."
Sentinel's response is a nod as she giggles.
Mystery Woman: "And noise you did make, Broderick. My, how you roared like a wounded beast, trying to convince us, the world and perhaps even yourself that you're a threat still. All that screaming and yelling did was put a glaring spotlight on your worries and insecurities. Is that not what your intention was? Too late now."
She pauses beneath a streetlight, tilting her head back a little to look up at the glaring glow over her. A bit of her profile is visible but not enough to positively ID her.
Mystery Woman: "Beyond all your name-calling and shrieks of rage, Broderick, I get the feeling that you didn't think very long about what was said. You just reacted, went off the first impulses that entered your brain without considering the deeper meaning. For a man who gets off on playing people and using them for whatever ends you cannot accomplish under your own power, you seem unable to combat the same. A weapon is only half-mastered if you merely learn how to attack with it. To truly master it one must learn defense against it as well. That's where you made your fatal mistake, Broderick: able to dish it out but unable to take it.
Shall we take it point by point? I'd hate to see you dig your hole any deeper than it already is, after all...no, scratch that. I'd rather see you dig all the way to Hell so you can rot there."
Unmitigated malice permeates her every word for a moment. Sentinel stops briefly, his stare locked on her. She seems to feel this, turning to see his gaze and literally flinching from it. She shakes it off after a moment and they resume their nocturnal stroll...though uneasiness lingers in her manner.
Mystery Woman: "Yes...point by point."
Regaining most of her composure, distaste lingering in her voice, she gets back on point.
Mystery Woman: "Talking records and match results is a battle you're going to lose here, Broderick. Sentinel has taken his losses like a man yet through those defeats not once has he been pinned. How far a cry is that from your own situation? You smacked around someone who had all of one match before hitting the bricks, most likely because they were embarrassed to have placed against you. And before that you got stomped to near-oblivion by a bunch of harlots the first time you showed your face here, something I'm sure you'd like to forget.
And, lest we forget, you ate a beating you should have gotten in your ghetto-dwelling days by the man in my wake. It's apparent that momma, daddy or weird Uncle Jack didn't kick the shit out of you nearly enough to knock the disrespect out of your system, so I'm sure they were hoping that Sentinel's near-destruction of you would do the trick. Just everyone's luck that you're still talking and breathing and infesting our lives with your self-serving presence."
She shakes her head slightly.
Mystery Woman: "But let's be fair, shall we? Let's talk about your wins. Two defeats of our World Heavyweight Champion would be impressive if her reign weren't dwindling the moment she put Pauly's shoulders to the mat. Of course, you did beat Kyle Travis. I suppose that would have meant something if he were half as good as he says he is.
News flash: he isn't.
And one of those grandiose defeats of Aerynn happened after the Silent Destroyer paved the path for such a victory. You're welcome, by the way. Just like your life outside the ring, someone else usually has to do the grunt work for your successes to become reality. Your so-called slump never ended, Broderick. Your whole goddamn career in the UWA has been a fucking slump. Calling yourself a loser is about as close to honest as you've gotten so far. So you're not intimidated. You're not scared. You're also not a champion nor a contender for any title up for grabs. Who do you think that impresses? Who should be intimidated by that?"
One arm folds across her chest while she taps a painted fingertip to her similarly-colored lips, lookin thoughtful at least in posture before shrugging.
Mystery Woman: "No one."
She shakes her head slowly.
Mystery Woman: "At least when the Silent Destroyer's accolades are alluded to, they're verifiable. Size alone didn't get him to where he is. That was a throwaway line by a desperate soul and you knew it before the words passed your lips. Size didn't favor several deluded souls who have passed through the revolving door that is this company. Your arguments about why you'll defeat this monster are about as weak as your attempts at humor.
I mean...plastic surgeon? Really?"
It's more of a cackle than a laugh. It's enough to make the Silent Destroyer shake his head.
Mystery Woman: "Since you keep bringing up Aerynn's name as some sort of justification as to why you're on a roll, let's set that straight too: she didn't beat Sentinel. She escaped him. Just like you, she took the path of least resistance in putting Pauly down to become the champion. She knew good and damn well that there's no way in holy hell that she'd be able to shut down the Silence Behind the Violence. She may not like hearing that, but the truth is a painful thing.
Mercy for her becomes suffering for you. What Sentinel did to her through the course of that match has never left her. The pressure of being a champion combined with the lingering results of his wrath and having to put up with your sorry hide...I'm not surprised that she can't buy a win. But to you that's just a reason to pat yourself on the back, no? Just like putting Talon on the shelf for months. Yet another grand coup for the All-American Nightmare."
Spitting on the cracked walk, not giving a single fuck if it's not lady-like or not, she continues on her path with a little more urgency, the lights of the arena soon becoming visible in the distance.
Mystery Woman: "You knew there would be repercussions the moment your dirty hands touched Talon. Sentinel has already proven that he belongs at the top of the mountain and after going through you it'll be a short walk up to where Aerynn is precariously perched...and a shorter count to three before he takes that championship for himself. He is secure in his ability to reach that pinnacle, which is why he can afford to deal with you first, to eliminate distraction and miscellaneous opposition before he takes his rightful place on high.
Because let's be perfectly honest: that's all you're suited to be. You're enhancement talent. People know who K.I.S.S. are because they beat the holy hell out of you. That lit a fire under your ass and you started getting more pumped for your matches. Not enough to get you past Sentinel, but a small one. You sailed past a no-name, got a few fringe victories and a win over an ailing, on-his-way-out legend fresh off the ass-beating of his life in his last company of employment. Right now? You're getting the rub from your wife. People don't know or care about your wrestling ability, Broderick. They, like us, see you as the fodder that you are.
Comic relief.
A fucking joke.
MISTER Gautier."
The sneer is damn well palpable.
Mystery Woman: "Got any cute fucking retorts for that, asshole?"
Back to the cold, sharp tone.
Mystery Woman: "Scream at the top of your lungs. Tell us how much you hate, Sentinel, knowing that that hate is seated within the fact that for all your success you've never beaten him. Disrespectful and unafraid, you shout your epithets to the heavens, daring the gods above to strike you down and laughing when they don't.
But your eyes should be facing forward instead. Demons don't dwell in heaven, fool."
Stopping and turning, she looks up into the eyes of the now-stationary Sentinel. He draws his hood back, ebony hair cascading over his shoulders. A sweep of his head tosses it back and he turns his glare to the camera.
Mystery Woman: "It's hard work, isn't it, keeping that mask on all the time?"
Sentinel's jaw sets, teeth showing slightly between drawn-back lips.
Mystery Woman: "Not half as hard as it'll be drawing breath when, once again, Sentinel puts you on your back. That's the difference between the two of you. His message comes with the force of truth because he's already put you in your place once. Yours comes with the stench of desperation, of a man willing to stoop to any depths to get what he wants.
But please...keep digging that hole. Not so I can see you burn, but so that you've already a resting place when the black sun sets on your useless existence. There is no Feast of Heroes for mortal cowards, only for the warriors who put them where they belong."
The camera stops following, centering on the arena as Sentinel and the hooded woman continue their approach now toward it.
Fade to black.
- END -
