Post by Sentinel on Jan 1, 2015 10:05:05 GMT -6
A white haze before a bright light, a cacophony of voices both yelling and whispering simultaneously, an understated sense of urgency...all this obvious yet on the fringe of the senses. The view beyond such is a strange one, giving a vantage from below of a constant string of fluorescent light fixtures equidistant from one another as though upon the ceiling of a long hallway. As more of them pass above, the voices get a little clearer but the multitude of them renders understanding impossible. The view begins to sway toward the left, showing a lovely female face marred by concern and anger, the red of her hair emanating as though it possessed a fiery light of its own. The piercing eyes of the darkly-clad figure beside her glitter akin to moonlight broken on the ocean waves at night. Concern is awash upon his face as well, his attention going from us to the woman and back again.
A brief bit of darkness before the vantage shifts to the other side, right into that imposing glow again. It's focused on us for a moment, a little to the left of center and then to the right before it is put away. The blue garb upon the man shining that light upon us seems to indicate something important that we fail to make out before the view gets hazy again, going from white to gray and finally to black. The voices fade, too, in the same gradual fashion as a song starts in the darkness.
In a bright flash, we cut to a view of a tree-lined country road in the morning hours, the roar and rumble of a quartet of Milwaukee hogs in front of a black van tearing down the old, cracked asphalt with five equally imposing men at the helm. The Dead Men, vested, helmeted and armed, barely three days past Thanksgiving, are riding with purpose. Shawn Crowe, in the lead, gestures toward the right and each of them pull as one toward a dirt road leading a little ways into the trees. Again perspective shifts, this time to an old warehouse-type building with a few sedans in front of it and a couple of jacketed men, the majority of them with close-cropped or bald heads, talking amongst themselves by the main entrance.
They hear the bikes in due course, looking toward the road and dropping their cigarettes. Despite hearing them coming, the men aren't ready for the still-mounted bikers to come in guns blazing. Shots ring out in the otherwise-silent woods, sending creatures of earth and sky to scrambling for cover. Bullets whistle through the air, tearing through glass, metal and wood...and in some cases flesh. Among the popping shots of pistols and the reverberating-yet-light rumble of submachine guns are the spaced-out explosions of shotguns. Within a minute or two the five men outside the warehouse lay soulless on the dirt and gravel and only then do the Dead Men dismount, helmets left with the bikes as they reload and advance on the warehouse. A matched boot to the doors by Darius and Hernandez break them open, allowing the five entrance to the dank building.
Cutting back to the first scene, the stream of lights have stopped, giving way to a higher ceiling and a chill in the air that's close to palpable. The voices are no easier to understand but the view changes beyond what's above. For a few moments we're looking straight ahead, into the maw of an open ambulance. A brief shaking of the sights ahead and the view shifts to the left but right there are the twins, trying to right that particular ship and bring the view forward again. What they say is lost on us but the concern they wore previously is enhanced now. Attention from the other side brings the view back into place despite resistance and soon there is nothing but the interior of the emergency vehicle to be seen along with those who brought us to this point.
In another flash, the past is lain before us and the guns are once again blazing. Around boxes, behind tall support beams and anything that could serve as a bodily shield, muzzles blaze and metal rips through anything it touches while more of the suited and tattooed men, recognized as Asian by descent now, try to hold back the bikers. One by one they go down but not without their weapons striking flesh. Wood is splintered by a shot near Frederick, the shards of wood raking his scarred cheek and the bullet flying closely enough past his face that it burns him a bit. Antonio takes a bullet to the right arm, forcing him to toss his shotgun to Darius and draw his pistol, the latter not taking this well and quickly unloading in the direction of the shooters. Other superficial wounds are abound before, as with outside, those that would block the Dead Men pay the price for their mistakes.
Sirens overtake the rest of the sounds and sights, blaring through conversation and peripheral noise alike. Part of the hazy perspective is masked, figuratively and literally, by an oxygen mask but that's swiftly pushed aside with only a single attempt to replace it. Were it not for the efforts of the brother and sister to the right, the vehicle might have to be stopped as we attempted to push our way out. But their insistence backed by something intangible behind their eyes removes the will to resist and replaces it with resignation. A little bit of red drips into view, the tinge it puts over the moment foreboding by common connotations alone. A battered, wrapped hand brushes it away, passing quickly and sweeping us back to weeks ago all over again.
The group of five move as one, Darius having drawn his pistol to compensate for the lack of a scattergun which is still in the grip of Darius, matching his own. Heading toward an office-type room at the back of the warehouse, they peer through the window before nodding to one another and knocking the door in with the same ferocity that allowed them entrance previously. Their reaction clearly states that this is what they came for, or rather who: in back-to-back chairs sit two women, bound to the seats with thick cloth cleaving their mouths and plenty of fear in their eyes. Another poor soul, a young male no older than they, is in a similar state on the floor with his back against a metal post. Shawn and Frederick remain at the door, attention on the outside in case more of the suited men show up while the other three Dead Men go about releasing the hostages and quickly assuring them that the trouble's over.
The five men lead the youngsters outside the warehouse and into the back of the van with Frederick climbing in the front seat. In a burst of gravel and dirt, the bikes and black van head off down the road, leaving quite the mess for the next person to visit this place.
The scenery gets a little more schizophrenic after that. A shift to a hospital room, to flickering sights of people standing and staring down at us, of conversations we can't understand. From there it's on to the interior of a small restaurant, the kind of corner place you'd find in a small town and be glad you did after the meal, where an older-yet-handsome gentleman is conversing with Shawn while the rest of the crew stands outside. The rescued souls are speaking to the authorities, simply overwhelmed with relief. One of the detectives comes over to the former conversation and after a brief powwow, Shawn leaves, the rest of the club mounting up and riding off into the light of a noontime sun.
The view fades to black at that point along with the final notes of the song, returning to the present and, in turn, to the interior of the modified bus where Talon, Alex, Zachariah and Rayne sit in silent contemplation. The sounds are few with the massive vehicle shut off; the soft scraping of pencil on page as Zachariah sketches with an imposingly cold expression on his face. One can only imagine what exactly he's drawing with a look like that. Rayne isn't long on her backside, soon rising and pacing a little, her soft footsteps not quite an interruption of the peace. Talon remains where she is, staring at her hands, looking to be on the edge of flipping out on the first person to cross her path. Only Alex is in any way calm, his sights mostly on the doors of the bus a little ways down.
After about half a minute, Rayne stops her back-and-forth, turning to the rest with her arms folded and a miffed expression not shared in her tone.
Lady Rayne: "What's taking so long? This isn't doing anything for my nerves."
Alex: "You aren't the only one worried about this. Grab a drink or something. It won't be much longer."
Rayne turns to her brother with an incredulous look that doesn't quite hold water. At any other time she could wither a person's so-called toughness with a stare but worry has her imposing visage at not quite half-mast.
Lady Rayne: "What exactly are you basing that on? Or were you watching something different than the rest of us the other night? How in the hell did they let him go out there in that state anyway?!"
At the last sentence, the tension in Talon becomes such that a mere touch could have made her snap like an overdrawn bowstring. Alex senses rather than sees this and shoots a glare at Rayne. she realizes her verbal faux pas as Zachariah looks up and between the two. His face is always twisted into a severe expression and now is no different. Shaking his head, he turns back to his art, growling more than speaking.
Zachariah Blood: "You're assuming that anyone 'lets' him do anything. How the hell would you stop the giant asshole if he didn't want to be stopped anyway?"
His words have Rayne and Alex exchanging looks before turning to stare at Blood. He doeesn't react to the stares, instead flipping to a new page and letting the pencile start its dance against the thick art paper without missing a beat.
Zachariah Blood: "He'll be here when he gets here. If either of you, with all due respect, my Lady..."
Rayne nods almost imperceptibly, after which Zachariah continues.
Zachariah Blood: "...had something passing for a heart, you'd sit down and shut up about it. Big sister is worrying enough for all of us as it is."
Those words strike a chord with Rayne and Alex who turn, as one, to look at Talon. A thin semblance of a smile appears for a moment as the fire-haired woman looks toward Zachariah who briefly meets her gaze. The man doesn't smile, obviously, but nods as a gesture of understanding. In that silent moment, the doors to the bus open and Sentinel ascends the steps as the passage hisses closed behind him. Got a few wounds lingering on his face, specifically at the forehead and nose thanks to his hideously-violent brawl with Joshua McBride, but he looks fine otherwise.
Except for the coldness of his eyes and the tighter-than-usual grip he has on the seats as he passes. His pace is measured much more than usual and the tentativity of his steps gives away that his balance isn't where it should be, where he wants it. Talon naturally is the first to rise, walking over to him and just sorta latching on. She practically buries herself against his broad chest which he accepts with one arm going around her. Over her head he stares at each of the others in turn, from Alex to Rayne to Zachariah, before gazing down at Talon again. The echo of those two words spoken prior to the war a night or two ago still hang in the air. Each and every person looks at him differently now.
But is that better or worse?
Talon: "Go to the back and rest. Those hospital beds suck as far as getting proper sleep goes..."
Talon looks up at Sentinel with a weak smile, nodding in the direction of the doors in the back.
Talon: "Pretty sure Cheyenne is already there. She missed you."
That, at least, is enough to break through the cold mask. Sentinel doesn't really smile but at least looks a bit calmer than before. Talon extricates herself from his body and moves to the side as Sentinel passes the others. It isn't ignoring them that he does, for they're certainly acknowledged, but the idea of a (more or less) proper bed to rest in for a while under the watchful eye of his little girl is too appealing to dismiss. Alex and Rayne nod as he passes, speaking quietly to him. He stops when he reaches Zachariah though, turning to meet his former partner's eyes. The stare they launch at one another was one of the facets of their in-ring game that beat so many opponents before the bell even rang: a level of ferocious intensity that makes the insides quiver.
Zachariah Blood: "I agree. It isn't over."
Nodding in agreement, Sentinel passes through to the back of the bus and into the main bedroom, shutting the doors behind him, bringing another fade. There's little to give clues of how much time has passed since Cataclysm, or the raid by the Dead Men, by sight alone. The bus is parked at a rest stop along the freeway in the early afternoon hours with cars rushing by in the background. Little Cheyenne is having fun just being off the bus for a bit, sitting in the grass and playing innocently as children tend to do. The only adult in sight is Sentinel himself, watching his young daughter peacefully.
Clicking footsteps come up behind him, a hand with red-painted nails resting on his shoulder as another reaches around him and sets a large cup of steaming coffee in front of him. Climbing gracefully onto the bolted-down picnic table, Talon perches herself on the table portion and looks over her shoulder at Cheyenne with a smile to match Sentinel's peace. She gives it a few moments, and sips, before she breaks the content silence.
Talon: "Word came in from the office last night. Next card's up the road a ways in Loveland."
Sentinel's expression sets immediately, his eyes still on Cheyenne but his mental attention locked on Talon. Seeing that she has his focus, she takes out and passes her phone to him. He glances at the screen before handing it back to her, rolling his neck and eliciting a few pops.
Talon: "That's about what I thought when I saw it too. Most of the possible opponents they could've thrown at you wouldn't concern me in the least. But Vince Jones...he's different."
At that, the Silent Destroyer's brows elevated and he turns to stare up at his wife. Talon returns the look with a serious one, tucking the phone back into her jeans pocket.
Talon: "There aren't many people in the UWA who can stand up to you, baby, I get that...physically OR mentally. I've been there for each and every fight you've been a part of, from the cage matches to the Japanese death matches and everything in between. I'm not in any way questioning your toughness or will to win. Please believe me when I say that..."
Sentinel's expression indicates that he does believe her...and also that he's still waiting for her to explain whatever logic is behind her comments.
Talon: "...but this is Vince Jones. Some people are snickering behind his back about him losing to a woman, especially considering how long he reigned as champion while beating the hell out of everyone else, but I'm not. He's a big, tough, nasty bastard with a mean streak and no regard for his opponents. Now who does that remind you of, barring the nasty part?"
She smiles slightly and Sentinel, unable to help the urge, smirks in response to the rhetorical question. Talon can't maintain the pleasant expression long, though. Reality does that.
Talon: "And you're still not right after what happened against McBride. There's no sense trying to gloss over it anymore. You came back too soon."
The words have barely left her lips before Sentinel is on his feet and stepping over the bench, intending to leave the table and the conversation. Talon grabs him by the arm, sliding off the table herself as she turns him around and makes him look at her. Anger is bubbling under those gray eyes, like a tiny flame that's far more fierce than its size would indicate. Much to her credit, Talon doesn't let that image inhibit her.
Talon: "Oh, no, you're not walking away from this!"
Her hand is shrugged away but she folds her arms and stands her ground.
Talon: "Everyone saw it at Cataclysm, how all it took was a couple of stiff shots from that bastard McBride to set off more of the after-effects from that little bitch Maiko and her sneak attack! You can be proud all you want that it took a bunch of assholes and an armed Oriental whore to put you on the shelf but that doesn't change that you were ON the goddamn SHELF! You know good and damn well how dangerous concussions are! That's the reason Zachariah might never step in the ring again, something ELSE we can blame those motherfuckers for exacerbating! Yeah, it was stupid of him to come out there and try to beat them down after what they did to you, but it's also insulting of YOU to treat that sacrifice so lightly by throwing yourself back in and risking further damage before you're properly healed!
Zachariah wouldn't do that for anyone else and you know this! But that cold-hearted sonofabitch stood up for you, not because you were partners but because you're friends AND family! Do you think he wants to see you in the same boat as him, having to find something else to do with your life because wrestling is no longer a possibility, much less when you're years before hitting your prime?! I sure as hell don't! Neither does Rayne, Alex, Eric...anyone! And if they saw how you were treating this, they'd line up to knock some sense into you themselves!"
It isn't that Sentinel isn't reacting, it's that he doesn't know how to. He exhibits the same tension Talon did while she and the rest waited for his discharge from the hospital which we saw previously.
Talon: "In fact, I'm questioning right now why I'm NOT doing that!"
The fiery female certainly looks ready to do just that, but whether it's because their daughter's eyes are now upon them or another unstated reason, she refrains. Sentinel, however, looks almost resigned. Does he not have the energy to deal with this situation? Is the strength and conviction of her words a bit much for him to bear? There's never any telling with the big silent bastard. He just watches her, gazes at her hand clenching and unclenching, watching as she barely resists the urge to go upside his head...then spreads his arms a bit and meets her heated stare.
Sentinel: "Go ahead."
Two more simple words, just as they were at Cataclysm, delivered by a voice that screams 'wrath of God' with it's depth and potency. The sound of them is enough to make the woman shiver unpleasantly, but not so much that she gives ground.
Talon: "Don't! Don't you dare do that!"
It requires taking a breath, which is enough time for Cheyenne to come over to them, looking between the two with a little concern-tinged curiosity. Talon is the first to notice, crouching down and picking her up, speaking far more gently to the child.
Talon: "Mom and dad are just having a serious talk, baby. Daddy has decided to be a hard-head. Like you when you don't care about bedtime."
She's too young to grasp the full weight of the goings-on but Cheyenne isn't a fool, either. She indicates that she wants to go to daddy for a moment and hugs him rather tight around the neck before being given back to mommy.
Talon: "Ready to get going? We got some driving to do. Maybe you can help Uncle Zach with his drawing."
Cheyenne nods and Talon walks past Sentinel toward the bus as Zachariah, Rayne and Alex exit the rest stop proper. She turns to look up at Sentinel, ready to say something that never makes it out. Instead, she climbs onto the bus without a word. Rayne and Alex likewise pass Sentinel, something about their attitude making one think that they heard some if not all of the arguement. Zachariah, however, stops. He nods to the table, leading to both he and Sentinel taking a seat. After an uncomfortable silence, the Masochist pipes up.
Zachariah Blood: "She's right. Pretty much anyone else I'd have let rot and not thought twice about it. I ain't gonna get mushy about that shit, though. You know why I did what I did. You also know that I don't blame you for what went down. A fight's a fight to me. That night, I just had more reason to want to crack someones melon than usual. No more, no less."
Yeah, that's about as soft and fuzzy as the tattooed warrior's gonna get, but it's enough to relax the Silent Destroyer, albeit slightly. Perhaps somewhere behind the silent exterior, everything that Talon said...he was already thinking.
Zachariah Blood: "So, Vince Jones, huh?"
Sentinel nods, and Zachariah scoffs.
Zachariah Blood: "That dumbass leads with his mouth instead of his fists most of the time. It's no wonder that he lost the title to a chick. Not only that, a little girl who's supposedly the lesser half of her team. If I were Vince, I'd be taking a long, hard look in the mirror and thinking maybe my eye ain't on the ball anymore. Seriously, as big and mean as he is, and thinkin' about all the damage he's done up to this point, that shit at the pay-per-view was fucking embarrassing. He cares more about the afterparty than getting the job done anymore from what I'm seeing. That or holding the title for that long just made him lazy. Complacency can be a bitch. Couple it with an inflated ego and it's deadly."
Shrugging, Sentinel seems to agree for the most part with Zachariah's assessment.
Zachariah Blood: "But that doesn't mean you get to take him lightly. You don't get to walk in there without your head together like you did against McBride. Plot this shit out properly and go in between those ropes with a battle plan. Make sure that you knock the black off that loudmouthed sonofabitch and make an example of him. When he's on, the guy fights a lot like I do. You've been in front of that before that. Against me, in fact."
Zachariah almost grins at that, while Sentinel actually does.
Zachariah Blood: "Matter of fact, with that very thing in mind, why don't you let me handle things this time around instead of Talon? From the sound of things..."
Zachariah casts a look toward the bus before returning to Sentinel.
Zachariah Blood: "...you two need down time. What do you say? Just like old times, right?"
Sentinel doesn't give it a whole lot of thought before he and Zachariah shake hands on it. From the bus, however, comes a shout.
Alex: "Up and at 'em, guys. We got a pre-show event to get to in four hours and this big beast needs a restock. Let's go."
At the summons, Zachariah and Sentinel head toward and climb into the bus, Zachariah continuing the conversation as they go.
Zachariah Blood: "Who knows...maybe Talon will feel better if I beat some sense into you to get you ready to kick this wannabe-gangster's ass, ya think?"
Sentinel chuckles under his breath at the snide comment before the door closes behind them and the bus starts up. Moments later they're on the road and the scene cuts to black for the last time.
A brief bit of darkness before the vantage shifts to the other side, right into that imposing glow again. It's focused on us for a moment, a little to the left of center and then to the right before it is put away. The blue garb upon the man shining that light upon us seems to indicate something important that we fail to make out before the view gets hazy again, going from white to gray and finally to black. The voices fade, too, in the same gradual fashion as a song starts in the darkness.
"Well, Momma told me
when I was young...
Said sit beside me,
my only son...
And listen closely,
to what I say...
And if you do this,
it'll help you some sunny day..."
when I was young...
Said sit beside me,
my only son...
And listen closely,
to what I say...
And if you do this,
it'll help you some sunny day..."
In a bright flash, we cut to a view of a tree-lined country road in the morning hours, the roar and rumble of a quartet of Milwaukee hogs in front of a black van tearing down the old, cracked asphalt with five equally imposing men at the helm. The Dead Men, vested, helmeted and armed, barely three days past Thanksgiving, are riding with purpose. Shawn Crowe, in the lead, gestures toward the right and each of them pull as one toward a dirt road leading a little ways into the trees. Again perspective shifts, this time to an old warehouse-type building with a few sedans in front of it and a couple of jacketed men, the majority of them with close-cropped or bald heads, talking amongst themselves by the main entrance.
"Oh, take your time,
don't live too fast...
Troubles will come,
and they will pass..."
don't live too fast...
Troubles will come,
and they will pass..."
They hear the bikes in due course, looking toward the road and dropping their cigarettes. Despite hearing them coming, the men aren't ready for the still-mounted bikers to come in guns blazing. Shots ring out in the otherwise-silent woods, sending creatures of earth and sky to scrambling for cover. Bullets whistle through the air, tearing through glass, metal and wood...and in some cases flesh. Among the popping shots of pistols and the reverberating-yet-light rumble of submachine guns are the spaced-out explosions of shotguns. Within a minute or two the five men outside the warehouse lay soulless on the dirt and gravel and only then do the Dead Men dismount, helmets left with the bikes as they reload and advance on the warehouse. A matched boot to the doors by Darius and Hernandez break them open, allowing the five entrance to the dank building.
"You'll find a woman,
and you'll find love...
And don't forget that,
there is someone up above...
And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something,
you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't do you do this for me son,
if you can..."
and you'll find love...
And don't forget that,
there is someone up above...
And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something,
you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't do you do this for me son,
if you can..."
Cutting back to the first scene, the stream of lights have stopped, giving way to a higher ceiling and a chill in the air that's close to palpable. The voices are no easier to understand but the view changes beyond what's above. For a few moments we're looking straight ahead, into the maw of an open ambulance. A brief shaking of the sights ahead and the view shifts to the left but right there are the twins, trying to right that particular ship and bring the view forward again. What they say is lost on us but the concern they wore previously is enhanced now. Attention from the other side brings the view back into place despite resistance and soon there is nothing but the interior of the emergency vehicle to be seen along with those who brought us to this point.
In another flash, the past is lain before us and the guns are once again blazing. Around boxes, behind tall support beams and anything that could serve as a bodily shield, muzzles blaze and metal rips through anything it touches while more of the suited and tattooed men, recognized as Asian by descent now, try to hold back the bikers. One by one they go down but not without their weapons striking flesh. Wood is splintered by a shot near Frederick, the shards of wood raking his scarred cheek and the bullet flying closely enough past his face that it burns him a bit. Antonio takes a bullet to the right arm, forcing him to toss his shotgun to Darius and draw his pistol, the latter not taking this well and quickly unloading in the direction of the shooters. Other superficial wounds are abound before, as with outside, those that would block the Dead Men pay the price for their mistakes.
"Forget your lust,
for rich man's gold...
All that you need now,
is in your soul...
And you can do this, oh baby,
if you try...
All that I want for you, my son,
is for you to be satisfied..."
for rich man's gold...
All that you need now,
is in your soul...
And you can do this, oh baby,
if you try...
All that I want for you, my son,
is for you to be satisfied..."
Sirens overtake the rest of the sounds and sights, blaring through conversation and peripheral noise alike. Part of the hazy perspective is masked, figuratively and literally, by an oxygen mask but that's swiftly pushed aside with only a single attempt to replace it. Were it not for the efforts of the brother and sister to the right, the vehicle might have to be stopped as we attempted to push our way out. But their insistence backed by something intangible behind their eyes removes the will to resist and replaces it with resignation. A little bit of red drips into view, the tinge it puts over the moment foreboding by common connotations alone. A battered, wrapped hand brushes it away, passing quickly and sweeping us back to weeks ago all over again.
"And be a simple kind of man
Be something,
you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Be something,
you love and understand"
Be something,
you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Be something,
you love and understand"
The group of five move as one, Darius having drawn his pistol to compensate for the lack of a scattergun which is still in the grip of Darius, matching his own. Heading toward an office-type room at the back of the warehouse, they peer through the window before nodding to one another and knocking the door in with the same ferocity that allowed them entrance previously. Their reaction clearly states that this is what they came for, or rather who: in back-to-back chairs sit two women, bound to the seats with thick cloth cleaving their mouths and plenty of fear in their eyes. Another poor soul, a young male no older than they, is in a similar state on the floor with his back against a metal post. Shawn and Frederick remain at the door, attention on the outside in case more of the suited men show up while the other three Dead Men go about releasing the hostages and quickly assuring them that the trouble's over.
The five men lead the youngsters outside the warehouse and into the back of the van with Frederick climbing in the front seat. In a burst of gravel and dirt, the bikes and black van head off down the road, leaving quite the mess for the next person to visit this place.
"Oh, don't you worry,
you'll find yourself...
Follow your heart,
and nothing else...
And you can do this, oh baby,
if you try...
All that I want from you, my son,
is to be satisfied..."
you'll find yourself...
Follow your heart,
and nothing else...
And you can do this, oh baby,
if you try...
All that I want from you, my son,
is to be satisfied..."
The scenery gets a little more schizophrenic after that. A shift to a hospital room, to flickering sights of people standing and staring down at us, of conversations we can't understand. From there it's on to the interior of a small restaurant, the kind of corner place you'd find in a small town and be glad you did after the meal, where an older-yet-handsome gentleman is conversing with Shawn while the rest of the crew stands outside. The rescued souls are speaking to the authorities, simply overwhelmed with relief. One of the detectives comes over to the former conversation and after a brief powwow, Shawn leaves, the rest of the club mounting up and riding off into the light of a noontime sun.
"And be a simple kind of man
Be something,
you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me, son,
if you can
So baby, be a simple kind of man
Be something,
you love and understand..."
Be something,
you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me, son,
if you can
So baby, be a simple kind of man
Be something,
you love and understand..."
The view fades to black at that point along with the final notes of the song, returning to the present and, in turn, to the interior of the modified bus where Talon, Alex, Zachariah and Rayne sit in silent contemplation. The sounds are few with the massive vehicle shut off; the soft scraping of pencil on page as Zachariah sketches with an imposingly cold expression on his face. One can only imagine what exactly he's drawing with a look like that. Rayne isn't long on her backside, soon rising and pacing a little, her soft footsteps not quite an interruption of the peace. Talon remains where she is, staring at her hands, looking to be on the edge of flipping out on the first person to cross her path. Only Alex is in any way calm, his sights mostly on the doors of the bus a little ways down.
After about half a minute, Rayne stops her back-and-forth, turning to the rest with her arms folded and a miffed expression not shared in her tone.
Lady Rayne: "What's taking so long? This isn't doing anything for my nerves."
Alex: "You aren't the only one worried about this. Grab a drink or something. It won't be much longer."
Rayne turns to her brother with an incredulous look that doesn't quite hold water. At any other time she could wither a person's so-called toughness with a stare but worry has her imposing visage at not quite half-mast.
Lady Rayne: "What exactly are you basing that on? Or were you watching something different than the rest of us the other night? How in the hell did they let him go out there in that state anyway?!"
At the last sentence, the tension in Talon becomes such that a mere touch could have made her snap like an overdrawn bowstring. Alex senses rather than sees this and shoots a glare at Rayne. she realizes her verbal faux pas as Zachariah looks up and between the two. His face is always twisted into a severe expression and now is no different. Shaking his head, he turns back to his art, growling more than speaking.
Zachariah Blood: "You're assuming that anyone 'lets' him do anything. How the hell would you stop the giant asshole if he didn't want to be stopped anyway?"
His words have Rayne and Alex exchanging looks before turning to stare at Blood. He doeesn't react to the stares, instead flipping to a new page and letting the pencile start its dance against the thick art paper without missing a beat.
Zachariah Blood: "He'll be here when he gets here. If either of you, with all due respect, my Lady..."
Rayne nods almost imperceptibly, after which Zachariah continues.
Zachariah Blood: "...had something passing for a heart, you'd sit down and shut up about it. Big sister is worrying enough for all of us as it is."
Those words strike a chord with Rayne and Alex who turn, as one, to look at Talon. A thin semblance of a smile appears for a moment as the fire-haired woman looks toward Zachariah who briefly meets her gaze. The man doesn't smile, obviously, but nods as a gesture of understanding. In that silent moment, the doors to the bus open and Sentinel ascends the steps as the passage hisses closed behind him. Got a few wounds lingering on his face, specifically at the forehead and nose thanks to his hideously-violent brawl with Joshua McBride, but he looks fine otherwise.
Except for the coldness of his eyes and the tighter-than-usual grip he has on the seats as he passes. His pace is measured much more than usual and the tentativity of his steps gives away that his balance isn't where it should be, where he wants it. Talon naturally is the first to rise, walking over to him and just sorta latching on. She practically buries herself against his broad chest which he accepts with one arm going around her. Over her head he stares at each of the others in turn, from Alex to Rayne to Zachariah, before gazing down at Talon again. The echo of those two words spoken prior to the war a night or two ago still hang in the air. Each and every person looks at him differently now.
But is that better or worse?
Talon: "Go to the back and rest. Those hospital beds suck as far as getting proper sleep goes..."
Talon looks up at Sentinel with a weak smile, nodding in the direction of the doors in the back.
Talon: "Pretty sure Cheyenne is already there. She missed you."
That, at least, is enough to break through the cold mask. Sentinel doesn't really smile but at least looks a bit calmer than before. Talon extricates herself from his body and moves to the side as Sentinel passes the others. It isn't ignoring them that he does, for they're certainly acknowledged, but the idea of a (more or less) proper bed to rest in for a while under the watchful eye of his little girl is too appealing to dismiss. Alex and Rayne nod as he passes, speaking quietly to him. He stops when he reaches Zachariah though, turning to meet his former partner's eyes. The stare they launch at one another was one of the facets of their in-ring game that beat so many opponents before the bell even rang: a level of ferocious intensity that makes the insides quiver.
Zachariah Blood: "I agree. It isn't over."
Nodding in agreement, Sentinel passes through to the back of the bus and into the main bedroom, shutting the doors behind him, bringing another fade. There's little to give clues of how much time has passed since Cataclysm, or the raid by the Dead Men, by sight alone. The bus is parked at a rest stop along the freeway in the early afternoon hours with cars rushing by in the background. Little Cheyenne is having fun just being off the bus for a bit, sitting in the grass and playing innocently as children tend to do. The only adult in sight is Sentinel himself, watching his young daughter peacefully.
Clicking footsteps come up behind him, a hand with red-painted nails resting on his shoulder as another reaches around him and sets a large cup of steaming coffee in front of him. Climbing gracefully onto the bolted-down picnic table, Talon perches herself on the table portion and looks over her shoulder at Cheyenne with a smile to match Sentinel's peace. She gives it a few moments, and sips, before she breaks the content silence.
Talon: "Word came in from the office last night. Next card's up the road a ways in Loveland."
Sentinel's expression sets immediately, his eyes still on Cheyenne but his mental attention locked on Talon. Seeing that she has his focus, she takes out and passes her phone to him. He glances at the screen before handing it back to her, rolling his neck and eliciting a few pops.
Talon: "That's about what I thought when I saw it too. Most of the possible opponents they could've thrown at you wouldn't concern me in the least. But Vince Jones...he's different."
At that, the Silent Destroyer's brows elevated and he turns to stare up at his wife. Talon returns the look with a serious one, tucking the phone back into her jeans pocket.
Talon: "There aren't many people in the UWA who can stand up to you, baby, I get that...physically OR mentally. I've been there for each and every fight you've been a part of, from the cage matches to the Japanese death matches and everything in between. I'm not in any way questioning your toughness or will to win. Please believe me when I say that..."
Sentinel's expression indicates that he does believe her...and also that he's still waiting for her to explain whatever logic is behind her comments.
Talon: "...but this is Vince Jones. Some people are snickering behind his back about him losing to a woman, especially considering how long he reigned as champion while beating the hell out of everyone else, but I'm not. He's a big, tough, nasty bastard with a mean streak and no regard for his opponents. Now who does that remind you of, barring the nasty part?"
She smiles slightly and Sentinel, unable to help the urge, smirks in response to the rhetorical question. Talon can't maintain the pleasant expression long, though. Reality does that.
Talon: "And you're still not right after what happened against McBride. There's no sense trying to gloss over it anymore. You came back too soon."
The words have barely left her lips before Sentinel is on his feet and stepping over the bench, intending to leave the table and the conversation. Talon grabs him by the arm, sliding off the table herself as she turns him around and makes him look at her. Anger is bubbling under those gray eyes, like a tiny flame that's far more fierce than its size would indicate. Much to her credit, Talon doesn't let that image inhibit her.
Talon: "Oh, no, you're not walking away from this!"
Her hand is shrugged away but she folds her arms and stands her ground.
Talon: "Everyone saw it at Cataclysm, how all it took was a couple of stiff shots from that bastard McBride to set off more of the after-effects from that little bitch Maiko and her sneak attack! You can be proud all you want that it took a bunch of assholes and an armed Oriental whore to put you on the shelf but that doesn't change that you were ON the goddamn SHELF! You know good and damn well how dangerous concussions are! That's the reason Zachariah might never step in the ring again, something ELSE we can blame those motherfuckers for exacerbating! Yeah, it was stupid of him to come out there and try to beat them down after what they did to you, but it's also insulting of YOU to treat that sacrifice so lightly by throwing yourself back in and risking further damage before you're properly healed!
Zachariah wouldn't do that for anyone else and you know this! But that cold-hearted sonofabitch stood up for you, not because you were partners but because you're friends AND family! Do you think he wants to see you in the same boat as him, having to find something else to do with your life because wrestling is no longer a possibility, much less when you're years before hitting your prime?! I sure as hell don't! Neither does Rayne, Alex, Eric...anyone! And if they saw how you were treating this, they'd line up to knock some sense into you themselves!"
It isn't that Sentinel isn't reacting, it's that he doesn't know how to. He exhibits the same tension Talon did while she and the rest waited for his discharge from the hospital which we saw previously.
Talon: "In fact, I'm questioning right now why I'm NOT doing that!"
The fiery female certainly looks ready to do just that, but whether it's because their daughter's eyes are now upon them or another unstated reason, she refrains. Sentinel, however, looks almost resigned. Does he not have the energy to deal with this situation? Is the strength and conviction of her words a bit much for him to bear? There's never any telling with the big silent bastard. He just watches her, gazes at her hand clenching and unclenching, watching as she barely resists the urge to go upside his head...then spreads his arms a bit and meets her heated stare.
Sentinel: "Go ahead."
Two more simple words, just as they were at Cataclysm, delivered by a voice that screams 'wrath of God' with it's depth and potency. The sound of them is enough to make the woman shiver unpleasantly, but not so much that she gives ground.
Talon: "Don't! Don't you dare do that!"
It requires taking a breath, which is enough time for Cheyenne to come over to them, looking between the two with a little concern-tinged curiosity. Talon is the first to notice, crouching down and picking her up, speaking far more gently to the child.
Talon: "Mom and dad are just having a serious talk, baby. Daddy has decided to be a hard-head. Like you when you don't care about bedtime."
She's too young to grasp the full weight of the goings-on but Cheyenne isn't a fool, either. She indicates that she wants to go to daddy for a moment and hugs him rather tight around the neck before being given back to mommy.
Talon: "Ready to get going? We got some driving to do. Maybe you can help Uncle Zach with his drawing."
Cheyenne nods and Talon walks past Sentinel toward the bus as Zachariah, Rayne and Alex exit the rest stop proper. She turns to look up at Sentinel, ready to say something that never makes it out. Instead, she climbs onto the bus without a word. Rayne and Alex likewise pass Sentinel, something about their attitude making one think that they heard some if not all of the arguement. Zachariah, however, stops. He nods to the table, leading to both he and Sentinel taking a seat. After an uncomfortable silence, the Masochist pipes up.
Zachariah Blood: "She's right. Pretty much anyone else I'd have let rot and not thought twice about it. I ain't gonna get mushy about that shit, though. You know why I did what I did. You also know that I don't blame you for what went down. A fight's a fight to me. That night, I just had more reason to want to crack someones melon than usual. No more, no less."
Yeah, that's about as soft and fuzzy as the tattooed warrior's gonna get, but it's enough to relax the Silent Destroyer, albeit slightly. Perhaps somewhere behind the silent exterior, everything that Talon said...he was already thinking.
Zachariah Blood: "So, Vince Jones, huh?"
Sentinel nods, and Zachariah scoffs.
Zachariah Blood: "That dumbass leads with his mouth instead of his fists most of the time. It's no wonder that he lost the title to a chick. Not only that, a little girl who's supposedly the lesser half of her team. If I were Vince, I'd be taking a long, hard look in the mirror and thinking maybe my eye ain't on the ball anymore. Seriously, as big and mean as he is, and thinkin' about all the damage he's done up to this point, that shit at the pay-per-view was fucking embarrassing. He cares more about the afterparty than getting the job done anymore from what I'm seeing. That or holding the title for that long just made him lazy. Complacency can be a bitch. Couple it with an inflated ego and it's deadly."
Shrugging, Sentinel seems to agree for the most part with Zachariah's assessment.
Zachariah Blood: "But that doesn't mean you get to take him lightly. You don't get to walk in there without your head together like you did against McBride. Plot this shit out properly and go in between those ropes with a battle plan. Make sure that you knock the black off that loudmouthed sonofabitch and make an example of him. When he's on, the guy fights a lot like I do. You've been in front of that before that. Against me, in fact."
Zachariah almost grins at that, while Sentinel actually does.
Zachariah Blood: "Matter of fact, with that very thing in mind, why don't you let me handle things this time around instead of Talon? From the sound of things..."
Zachariah casts a look toward the bus before returning to Sentinel.
Zachariah Blood: "...you two need down time. What do you say? Just like old times, right?"
Sentinel doesn't give it a whole lot of thought before he and Zachariah shake hands on it. From the bus, however, comes a shout.
Alex: "Up and at 'em, guys. We got a pre-show event to get to in four hours and this big beast needs a restock. Let's go."
At the summons, Zachariah and Sentinel head toward and climb into the bus, Zachariah continuing the conversation as they go.
Zachariah Blood: "Who knows...maybe Talon will feel better if I beat some sense into you to get you ready to kick this wannabe-gangster's ass, ya think?"
Sentinel chuckles under his breath at the snide comment before the door closes behind them and the bus starts up. Moments later they're on the road and the scene cuts to black for the last time.
