Post by Sentinel on Feb 6, 2015 19:11:14 GMT -6
The rain is pounding into the earth at a steady clip, the late afternoon hour not allowing for much light to force its way through the boiling gray clouds hanging low in the sky above. Thunder, as well, joins the natural euphony of the weather, causing echoing layers of rumbling to drown out most of the peripheral noise. But nothing drowns out a Harley, and when there are five...good luck with that, Mother Nature.
Five relatively-familiar iron horses ride through the storm, headlights giving the only harbinger beyond their mightier-than-thunder roars. We watch as they ride up, then past, tail lights quickly fading into the storm. They're not lost to us for long, though. The view shifts and we see them pulling into the otherwise-empty parking lot of a large, well-tended cemetary. All five, in full gear, shut off their rides and make for the gates with Shawn in front carrying what looked like a wrapped bunch of flowers.
Some of them pause at various gravestones, either to stare quietly or offer a few quiet words beneath the noise of the storm. Only Shawn keeps moving without stopping, the others eventually joining him at one grave in particular. The name is obscured from our vantage even as the President of the Dead Men crouches down to lay the flowers before the grave. To a man, each of the bikers look as though they'd like to say something...
...and to a man, none of them do. A few bow their heads respectfully, Antonio drawing the cross over his heart over his chest and Frederick taking a knee before the headstone with his hand gently resting atop it. Shawn is the only one to to not move at all, just staring at the inscription. It's not till they start heading back to the bikes that the silence (save for the storm) is broken.
Rory McCall: "So what's the plan, boss?"
Shawn stoically keeps his eyes forward.
Shawn Crowe: "Plans went out the damn window the moment he found out what was goin' on, Rory. I'm still tryin' to figure out what possessed you to ride all the way out to Colorado in the first place."
Rory McCall: "To try and fix things."
Shawn Crowe: "Sounds like all you did was piss him off."
Darius is looking between the two, shooting Antonio a look over Frederick's head. The VP just shakes his head, making a gesture that clearly says 'let them handle it'.
Rory McCall: "We wouldn't be hearing word one outta him if things hadn't already changed. None of us want that change turning for the worst."
Shawn Crowe: "I'm not that optimistic, especially after that confrontation with Robert. Speaking of..."
A brief glance over his shoulder gets Antonio's attention. A raised brow gets a vocal response.
Antonio Murond: "Kage must have done some fast talkin', brother. Robert's gonna try and chill about all this as much as he can. Still a damn sensitive situation, though."
Relief registers for a moment in Shawn, who turns back to Rory for a moment as they arrive back at the bikes.
Shawn Crowe: "I ain't ungrateful, Rory. You did what you did for him and for the club and that counts for a lot. But shit coulda went south in a hurry. Next time...just give us a heads-up, huh?"
Rory McCall: "Yeah, I'll do that. Just didn't feel like there was time this go-round."
All five mount their bikes, strapping on their helmets. Back into the storm they go, quickly disappearing into the rain and thunder as lightning for the first time crashes overhead. The scene shifts after a moment to somewhere much further out west, specifically to some dive bar on the outskirts of Hutchinson where Mayhem is set to take place. The name doesn't matter and from the looks of the place, it probably doesn't have a sign that hasn't had the name worn off of it already. It's probably hanging outside on rusty chains. Nevertheless, despite the place's status or lack thereof, it's where Sentinel is found sitting at the bar with most of a beer still in front of him. His presence draws attention by default but most of the patrons are content to give him a wide berth.
Save for one, that is. Which wouldn't be an issue if he looked old enough to BE in a bar. He looks to be no more than sixteen, with almond-shaped eyes and short black hair that's worn spiky and messy. He takes a seat next to Sentinel while the bartender and the others around him simply ignore his presence...probably out of concern that bringing attention to him might cause a problem. Sentinel doesn't look at him either. That is, until the stranger speaks to him.
Stranger: "Place is a dump, man. What's your fascination with shit-holes like this anyway?"
As if that weren't high on the list of 'Worst Things to Say in a Cheap Bar' lines, the guy says it without giving a damn that he was in the middle of it. No one reacts but Sentinel, though, who despite his grim disposition can't help but crack a small grin.
Sentinel: "Who the hell made you some connoisseur of fine drinking establishments? You get a headache from non-alcoholic beer."
Stranger: "Bite me, D."
The two share a bit of laughter at that while Sentinel takes a sip from his beer, still not looking at his guest.
Stranger: "So it's that time already, huh?"
Sentinel: "It went on longer than it should have. That's what most of 'em would say. Some, like Robert, would say it hasn't been nearly long enough. You know how he is, though."
The guy rolls his eyes with an unrestrained groan.
Stranger: "More than I'd like, bro. But he meant well despite bein' such a fuckin' hardass. Same as Kage usually meant well despite being a punkass."
Sentinel: "He's still around, y'know."
Stranger: "No shit? He still causin' trouble?"
Sentinel: "Not like he used to. Kinda plays both sides right now."
Stranger: "Huh..."
The guy scoffs in an amused way, smirking.
Stranger: "He don't seem the type. Can't imagine men OR women wantin' much to do with him like that."
Sentinel pauses, turning to his left, then putting a hand to his face in awe of the sheer directness of that comment.
Sentinel: "Not like that, dumbass. I swear to God..."
Stranger: "I know what ya meant. dude. Can't help it. Pickin' on Kage is what I do."
Sentinel: "You're about the only one he'd tolerate it from. But that don't answer the question on my mind right now."
Stranger: "Why am I here, right?"
Nodding, Sentinel finally turns to look at the young man next to him, who stares straight ahead.
Stranger: "Because it's time."
Sentinel: "I already know that."
The young man looks back, for the first time showing an expression of severity.
Stranger: "Not by half, you don't. Whatever you thinkin' of doing, D, don't go all gung-ho on this shit. Let the past rest."
Growling under his breath, Sentinel turns back to his beer, downing half the remains without a change of expression.
Sentinel: "You know who you're talkin' to?"
Stranger: "That's why I said it. Just remember that I DID say it, huh? I ain't ready to see you again for a long time yet, hear me?"
He rises and walks away, clasping Sentinel's large shoulder as he leaves. Before he's even out of sight Talon comes walking up, taking the same seat the guy had been in not moments before without even casting a glance his way. She slides onto the stool and, unlike the case is with Sentinel, most of the eyes in the bar are watching her every move.
And with legs like those, none could blame them.
Talon: "Sounds like Cheyenne is having fun with Zach and Rayne. They're going to meet us back home on Wednesday. Should give us plenty of time to get there if we leave right after Mayhem."
Sentinel nods as the bartender comes up to Talon. She gently abstains from having a drink, her attention mostly on Sentinel.
Talon: "Something wrong, baby?"
Sentinel: "Thinking too much."
Much like the stranger had before, Talon rolls her eyes.
Talon: "I swear, you're just like Eric sometimes. What are you overthinking this time? The match with Bethany or something else?"
Sentinel: "Little of both?"
He downs the rest of the beer at which point Talon grabs hold of his hand and cups it in both of hers, willing him to look her way.
Talon: "Less stress and overthinking, more eyes on the prize. Now let's get out of here and get some dinner. We've got that interview and photoshoot early tomorrow, after which you need to respond to Bethany."
Rather than making issue of it, Sentinel shrugs and gets to his feet, leaving a twenty on the bar as he takes Talon's arm and leads her out of the place. Eyes are on him now, unlike they were before, and most of it has to do with the woman on his arm. That is, except the eyes of the stranger who he'd been chatting with before her return. Concern shows on his young face before he, too, walks out before the door closes with most folks not even noticing.
Cutting to the day after, we're on the other side of their hotel room door as Sentinel and Talon walk in, looking like a million and a half. Talon has the 'little black dress' thing going on with pair of calf-high leather boots only making those legs of hers more pleasing to the eye. As for the Destroyer, it's a rare chance to see him in a suit, a solid black three-piece to be precise. One could say he cleans up well, which isn't to say that he's a dirty person by any stretch. He's pulling a small wheeled suitcase into the room behind him, shutting the door as Talon moves on to the sofa and takes a seat. The conversation they'd been having on the way in continuing unabated.
Talon: "...really do believe her when she says it. At least she has the guts to."
Sentinel: "Still came off sounding weird. Considering what she's faced since she started here, what the hell makes me any scarier than anyone else?"
Looking up from where she now sits, bent over to undo the zip on the side of one of her boots, Talon smirks up at her Destroyer, then breaks into a small grin. Sentinel, meanwhile, sets up the camera which cause the view to change mid-conversation between the two of them.
Talon: "Are you serious?"
Sentinel: "Yeah, I am."
Talon: "Do I really need to explain it for you?"
Her attempts to finish her current task are stalled when Sentinel himself takes a knee at her side and finishes the removal of the leather himself, something that has a different look wash through her acid-green eyes.
Talon: "Let's see... Six and a half feet tall, 280 pounds, undefeated in one-on-one matches in the UWA, someone who has damn near obliterated everyone they've set foot in the ring with...should I go on?"
It's Sentinel's turn to roll his eyes.
Sentinel: "And that makes Bethany chopped liver, then? She's a former champion and the only reason she lost those belts along with Ashley was because of Aerynn's massive displacement issues. Sang Real MIGHT hold the straps for a month or two before they drop them as is their usual."
Talon: "Less than that if Alex and I get a shot at them."
Sentinel: "You're not doing anything to challenge my point, so I'll go a step further: she and her friends were standing up to the bullshit in this place while I was still on the shelf. Six months off didn't really help my mystique."
He starts to work off the other boot while Talon stares at him lovingly from above. To some, this would seem to be prostrating himself before his wife, but in Sentinel's mind he's doing what comes naturally and taking care of her. It's the little things that make the difference. Talon muses while she watches, tapping a red fingertip to equally red lips.
Talon: "It's intangible. People see what you do in the ring to your opponents and that gives them reservations. For some, that turns into fear. It's reasonable. My so-called hyperbole has nothing to do with that. I'm only stating the obvious."
Sentinel: "Uh-huh."
With the other boot removed, Sentinel rises and for a moment runs his fingertips down Talon's cheek before moving off to fix them a drink. Talon takes that opportunity to rise and fetch the camera and do the recording herself. Talon turns to see this, two glasses of whiskey in hand, and elevates a brow in Talon's direction.
Sentinel: "You should be relaxing."
Talon: "I'd rather stare at you lustfully from behind the camera. So tell me again, as I look at this mountain of manhood before me, why Bethany shouldn't be scared of you?"
Sentinel: "She's not my enemy. Despite the rage bubbling within, prevalent no matter how I try to quell it, I'm not going to lose control against her. She'll have the same chance that Pauly did before he decided to be dishonorable. With all due respect given to the young lady, she's no Joshua McBride. She doesn't exactly inspire rage and violence. It's going to be a hard-fought match and she WILL get thrown around quite a bit, but there won't be any malice behind what happens. Only determination."
Behind the camera, Talon's soft laughter is apparent.
Talon: "Speaking of Joshua and his issues, as well as Aerynn's little sandbox gang..."
Sentinel: "Ah. That."
Ice clinks as Sentinel sets Talon's glass and takes a long draw of his. Distaste seeps into his voice as well as his expression.
Sentinel: "I wouldn't worry about interference on either of their parts, Bethany. Gealtachta sticking their noses in my business again will end in said noses being smeared across their faces. And if they do so in our match, I will happily fight by your side to send them packing with their Irish tails between their legs. As for Joshua, he will be...preoccupied with other matters, I think."
Again with that soft, knowing laughter from behind the lens. Sentinel keeps most of his expression neutral but there's a darkness behind the calm that's not easily quelled.
Sentinel: "But as my wife and I were discussing, there's no sense in you being afraid or putting on a brave front to cover it up if you really are. Or at least, there's no sense in worrying about it. Everyone's scared of something. Even me. You might find that hard to believe, Bethany, but it's true. The fear isn't the problem, but how you deal it. Do you let it consume you, putting doubt into your every word and action while simultaneous causing every danger, perceived or otherwise to magnify in intensity?
Or do you turn it into a weapon and bring it to bear against its source? See, if this were my old friend Eric talking, he'd be a little irritated that someone was afraid of him. He knows that fear, turned the right way, can enhance a person's reflexes and awareness, making it harder to get the drop on them or overcome their adrenaline. It also keeps them honest. A woman as skilled as you in the ring possessed of that boost would be an even more dangerous opponent than you already are. I can't sit back and tell you not to be afraid. If you are, you are. No one, especially me, would look down on you for it. But it IS something I have to prepare for."
Talon: "So what ARE you scared of?"
Sentinel: "Sorry, what?"
Sentinel stops mid-pour, having been setting about refilling his glass, turning his gray eyes on the camera and the stunner behind it.
Talon: "What're you scared of?"
Sentinel: "...falling."
Talon: "Huh. You never told me that."
He shrugs, finishing the pouring of the drink but not immediately sipping of it.
Sentinel: "Because it's not that big of a deal. I just avoid railing in high places and keep my mind and eyes on the road when I ride. If I don't think about it, it doesn't bother me as much."
Talon makes a thoughtful sound, allowing Sentinel a moment to sip of the fine Irish spirits before continuing.
Sentinel: "You see, Bethany, no one is immune to fear. But it IS one of the main problems in the UWA right now. One of many, I digress, but a large one. Everyone seems to have an agenda and they look upon those who don't share said agenda as enemies to be destroyed. Contrary thoughts and opinions to their own invokes their wrath and thus we end up with the kind of bullshit that's permeated this place since before I was gone. Dark Camelot, the Children, Gealtachta...all are guilty of perpetrating this. They try to rule through numbers, fear and intimidation, doling out violence with pleasure as warnings to any who would opppose them. I don't mind telling you that this sickens me. You and yours, including Ashley, Jeszika and others, are the only exception. Even the Sin City Nights have their moments as they ride the line in between. If one were so inclined, they could say the same of my brethren, the Dead Men. But they aren't wrestlers. They were here to do a job, which they did.
The more I think about all that, the angrier it makes me. But recently I've had an epiphany where all this gang warfare is concerned, which is thus: the Unchained Wrestling Alliance needs a return to proper form, a throwback to a time when people had their priorities straight and clear sight of their goals. When the goal was to be champion, to be the very best, not to consolidate political power and an iron grip on the company's reins. But who, with the UWA so mired in the constant skirmishes and full-blown bloodbaths we've seen for the past several months, would dare step up to try and bring such an event about?"
He takes another thoughtful sip before responding, staring into the mirror across from himself.
Sentinel: "Me."
Stony eyes return to Talon's camera.
Sentinel: "Since Day One I've been about the World Heavyweight Championship. It is my all-consuming goal. You've heard of the Golden Rule haven't you?"
Talon pipes up at that point, giggling as she responds.
Talon: "'Whoever has the gold MAKES the rules!'?"
Sentinel: "Exactly."
The Destroyer responds with a grin, though he quickly turns serious again.
Sentinel: "The champion is the star by which this ship sails. They ARE the flagship of the company whose title they hold, leading it into the future. For a time, Aerynn Donnelly believed that. Jeszika, no disrespect, seems too busy trying to find herself to think much about it. But I, who have yet to hold the title, believe it thoroughly. I won't presume to know what you're thinking or how you see the championship, nor do I know how you'd change, if at all, were you to win that title at Tragic Engagement. I DO know that champions are supposed to set the standard and, like her or hate her, Aerynn did that. Jeszika, if she has the time and means, will do the same. You would also with the same consideration. In that, we are alike."
Turning and walking back over to the sofa, Sentinel takes a seat comfortably, glass in hand, as Talon dutifully moves the camera to follow him.
Talon: "You WILL be champion one day, sooner than anyone thinks. It doesn't matter who they put in front of you."
Sentinel: "Don't sell any of those three women short, lover, including Bethany."
Talon: "Might not even BE one of them, come to think of it."
Sentinel: "Whoever it is, even if it's that addle-brained Kyle Travis, I'll treat them very serious. Just as I'm treating Bethany right now."
Attention back on the camera, Sentinel seems a lot calmer.
Sentinel: "Change is coming to this place. I know that sounds corny, but only those who would be in opposition to it would argue that it was unnecessary. And when that time comes, I would welcome you and yours to our side, Bethany. Wrestling isn't about what they think. It's, as I said, about championships and being the best. It's about proving that every time you're in the ring. The money is good, too, but you can make money doing just about anything these days. You can't put a price on pride, though, or on the accolades that come with reaching the pinnacle. That's what I've always been after."
Finishing the rest of the glass's contents, he stares at the liquor-soaked ice thoughtfully, a brief smile playing on his pale lips. His eyes avert not to the camera, but to Talon, before eventually settling on the recorder again.
Sentinel: "But to reach what I covet, I have to defeat you. Not for a single moment will I look past you. Defeat would set me back for longer than I care to wait, having waited too long already. And now that you know what I know, I feel rather confident in saying that not only will I enjoy this match at Mayhem, but so will you. Two professionals, fighting in the main event to the top of their ability, and may the best warrior win. We do this knowing that any who would interfere and ruin the purity of our battle will be met with swift, violent retribution.
There's nothing to fear, Bethany, in this battle. The only thing either of us have to fear is not making the most of the wide-open future laid before us."
It would seem that there's just enough left in that glass for another sip after all. Sentinel, noticing this, lifts it in his opponent's direction and finishes it off.
Sentinel: "Good luck to you. I know, win or lose, you'll do your friends and family proud against me."
Talon sets the camera down, still facing the sofa, as the timed shut-off starts to count down. She joins Sentinel with her own glass, curling in against him as they put their attention to the view out the window, the scene fading to black for the last time.
Five relatively-familiar iron horses ride through the storm, headlights giving the only harbinger beyond their mightier-than-thunder roars. We watch as they ride up, then past, tail lights quickly fading into the storm. They're not lost to us for long, though. The view shifts and we see them pulling into the otherwise-empty parking lot of a large, well-tended cemetary. All five, in full gear, shut off their rides and make for the gates with Shawn in front carrying what looked like a wrapped bunch of flowers.
Some of them pause at various gravestones, either to stare quietly or offer a few quiet words beneath the noise of the storm. Only Shawn keeps moving without stopping, the others eventually joining him at one grave in particular. The name is obscured from our vantage even as the President of the Dead Men crouches down to lay the flowers before the grave. To a man, each of the bikers look as though they'd like to say something...
...and to a man, none of them do. A few bow their heads respectfully, Antonio drawing the cross over his heart over his chest and Frederick taking a knee before the headstone with his hand gently resting atop it. Shawn is the only one to to not move at all, just staring at the inscription. It's not till they start heading back to the bikes that the silence (save for the storm) is broken.
Rory McCall: "So what's the plan, boss?"
Shawn stoically keeps his eyes forward.
Shawn Crowe: "Plans went out the damn window the moment he found out what was goin' on, Rory. I'm still tryin' to figure out what possessed you to ride all the way out to Colorado in the first place."
Rory McCall: "To try and fix things."
Shawn Crowe: "Sounds like all you did was piss him off."
Darius is looking between the two, shooting Antonio a look over Frederick's head. The VP just shakes his head, making a gesture that clearly says 'let them handle it'.
Rory McCall: "We wouldn't be hearing word one outta him if things hadn't already changed. None of us want that change turning for the worst."
Shawn Crowe: "I'm not that optimistic, especially after that confrontation with Robert. Speaking of..."
A brief glance over his shoulder gets Antonio's attention. A raised brow gets a vocal response.
Antonio Murond: "Kage must have done some fast talkin', brother. Robert's gonna try and chill about all this as much as he can. Still a damn sensitive situation, though."
Relief registers for a moment in Shawn, who turns back to Rory for a moment as they arrive back at the bikes.
Shawn Crowe: "I ain't ungrateful, Rory. You did what you did for him and for the club and that counts for a lot. But shit coulda went south in a hurry. Next time...just give us a heads-up, huh?"
Rory McCall: "Yeah, I'll do that. Just didn't feel like there was time this go-round."
All five mount their bikes, strapping on their helmets. Back into the storm they go, quickly disappearing into the rain and thunder as lightning for the first time crashes overhead. The scene shifts after a moment to somewhere much further out west, specifically to some dive bar on the outskirts of Hutchinson where Mayhem is set to take place. The name doesn't matter and from the looks of the place, it probably doesn't have a sign that hasn't had the name worn off of it already. It's probably hanging outside on rusty chains. Nevertheless, despite the place's status or lack thereof, it's where Sentinel is found sitting at the bar with most of a beer still in front of him. His presence draws attention by default but most of the patrons are content to give him a wide berth.
Save for one, that is. Which wouldn't be an issue if he looked old enough to BE in a bar. He looks to be no more than sixteen, with almond-shaped eyes and short black hair that's worn spiky and messy. He takes a seat next to Sentinel while the bartender and the others around him simply ignore his presence...probably out of concern that bringing attention to him might cause a problem. Sentinel doesn't look at him either. That is, until the stranger speaks to him.
Stranger: "Place is a dump, man. What's your fascination with shit-holes like this anyway?"
As if that weren't high on the list of 'Worst Things to Say in a Cheap Bar' lines, the guy says it without giving a damn that he was in the middle of it. No one reacts but Sentinel, though, who despite his grim disposition can't help but crack a small grin.
Sentinel: "Who the hell made you some connoisseur of fine drinking establishments? You get a headache from non-alcoholic beer."
Stranger: "Bite me, D."
The two share a bit of laughter at that while Sentinel takes a sip from his beer, still not looking at his guest.
Stranger: "So it's that time already, huh?"
Sentinel: "It went on longer than it should have. That's what most of 'em would say. Some, like Robert, would say it hasn't been nearly long enough. You know how he is, though."
The guy rolls his eyes with an unrestrained groan.
Stranger: "More than I'd like, bro. But he meant well despite bein' such a fuckin' hardass. Same as Kage usually meant well despite being a punkass."
Sentinel: "He's still around, y'know."
Stranger: "No shit? He still causin' trouble?"
Sentinel: "Not like he used to. Kinda plays both sides right now."
Stranger: "Huh..."
The guy scoffs in an amused way, smirking.
Stranger: "He don't seem the type. Can't imagine men OR women wantin' much to do with him like that."
Sentinel pauses, turning to his left, then putting a hand to his face in awe of the sheer directness of that comment.
Sentinel: "Not like that, dumbass. I swear to God..."
Stranger: "I know what ya meant. dude. Can't help it. Pickin' on Kage is what I do."
Sentinel: "You're about the only one he'd tolerate it from. But that don't answer the question on my mind right now."
Stranger: "Why am I here, right?"
Nodding, Sentinel finally turns to look at the young man next to him, who stares straight ahead.
Stranger: "Because it's time."
Sentinel: "I already know that."
The young man looks back, for the first time showing an expression of severity.
Stranger: "Not by half, you don't. Whatever you thinkin' of doing, D, don't go all gung-ho on this shit. Let the past rest."
Growling under his breath, Sentinel turns back to his beer, downing half the remains without a change of expression.
Sentinel: "You know who you're talkin' to?"
Stranger: "That's why I said it. Just remember that I DID say it, huh? I ain't ready to see you again for a long time yet, hear me?"
He rises and walks away, clasping Sentinel's large shoulder as he leaves. Before he's even out of sight Talon comes walking up, taking the same seat the guy had been in not moments before without even casting a glance his way. She slides onto the stool and, unlike the case is with Sentinel, most of the eyes in the bar are watching her every move.
And with legs like those, none could blame them.
Talon: "Sounds like Cheyenne is having fun with Zach and Rayne. They're going to meet us back home on Wednesday. Should give us plenty of time to get there if we leave right after Mayhem."
Sentinel nods as the bartender comes up to Talon. She gently abstains from having a drink, her attention mostly on Sentinel.
Talon: "Something wrong, baby?"
Sentinel: "Thinking too much."
Much like the stranger had before, Talon rolls her eyes.
Talon: "I swear, you're just like Eric sometimes. What are you overthinking this time? The match with Bethany or something else?"
Sentinel: "Little of both?"
He downs the rest of the beer at which point Talon grabs hold of his hand and cups it in both of hers, willing him to look her way.
Talon: "Less stress and overthinking, more eyes on the prize. Now let's get out of here and get some dinner. We've got that interview and photoshoot early tomorrow, after which you need to respond to Bethany."
Rather than making issue of it, Sentinel shrugs and gets to his feet, leaving a twenty on the bar as he takes Talon's arm and leads her out of the place. Eyes are on him now, unlike they were before, and most of it has to do with the woman on his arm. That is, except the eyes of the stranger who he'd been chatting with before her return. Concern shows on his young face before he, too, walks out before the door closes with most folks not even noticing.
Cutting to the day after, we're on the other side of their hotel room door as Sentinel and Talon walk in, looking like a million and a half. Talon has the 'little black dress' thing going on with pair of calf-high leather boots only making those legs of hers more pleasing to the eye. As for the Destroyer, it's a rare chance to see him in a suit, a solid black three-piece to be precise. One could say he cleans up well, which isn't to say that he's a dirty person by any stretch. He's pulling a small wheeled suitcase into the room behind him, shutting the door as Talon moves on to the sofa and takes a seat. The conversation they'd been having on the way in continuing unabated.
Talon: "...really do believe her when she says it. At least she has the guts to."
Sentinel: "Still came off sounding weird. Considering what she's faced since she started here, what the hell makes me any scarier than anyone else?"
Looking up from where she now sits, bent over to undo the zip on the side of one of her boots, Talon smirks up at her Destroyer, then breaks into a small grin. Sentinel, meanwhile, sets up the camera which cause the view to change mid-conversation between the two of them.
Talon: "Are you serious?"
Sentinel: "Yeah, I am."
Talon: "Do I really need to explain it for you?"
Her attempts to finish her current task are stalled when Sentinel himself takes a knee at her side and finishes the removal of the leather himself, something that has a different look wash through her acid-green eyes.
Talon: "Let's see... Six and a half feet tall, 280 pounds, undefeated in one-on-one matches in the UWA, someone who has damn near obliterated everyone they've set foot in the ring with...should I go on?"
It's Sentinel's turn to roll his eyes.
Sentinel: "And that makes Bethany chopped liver, then? She's a former champion and the only reason she lost those belts along with Ashley was because of Aerynn's massive displacement issues. Sang Real MIGHT hold the straps for a month or two before they drop them as is their usual."
Talon: "Less than that if Alex and I get a shot at them."
Sentinel: "You're not doing anything to challenge my point, so I'll go a step further: she and her friends were standing up to the bullshit in this place while I was still on the shelf. Six months off didn't really help my mystique."
He starts to work off the other boot while Talon stares at him lovingly from above. To some, this would seem to be prostrating himself before his wife, but in Sentinel's mind he's doing what comes naturally and taking care of her. It's the little things that make the difference. Talon muses while she watches, tapping a red fingertip to equally red lips.
Talon: "It's intangible. People see what you do in the ring to your opponents and that gives them reservations. For some, that turns into fear. It's reasonable. My so-called hyperbole has nothing to do with that. I'm only stating the obvious."
Sentinel: "Uh-huh."
With the other boot removed, Sentinel rises and for a moment runs his fingertips down Talon's cheek before moving off to fix them a drink. Talon takes that opportunity to rise and fetch the camera and do the recording herself. Talon turns to see this, two glasses of whiskey in hand, and elevates a brow in Talon's direction.
Sentinel: "You should be relaxing."
Talon: "I'd rather stare at you lustfully from behind the camera. So tell me again, as I look at this mountain of manhood before me, why Bethany shouldn't be scared of you?"
Sentinel: "She's not my enemy. Despite the rage bubbling within, prevalent no matter how I try to quell it, I'm not going to lose control against her. She'll have the same chance that Pauly did before he decided to be dishonorable. With all due respect given to the young lady, she's no Joshua McBride. She doesn't exactly inspire rage and violence. It's going to be a hard-fought match and she WILL get thrown around quite a bit, but there won't be any malice behind what happens. Only determination."
Behind the camera, Talon's soft laughter is apparent.
Talon: "Speaking of Joshua and his issues, as well as Aerynn's little sandbox gang..."
Sentinel: "Ah. That."
Ice clinks as Sentinel sets Talon's glass and takes a long draw of his. Distaste seeps into his voice as well as his expression.
Sentinel: "I wouldn't worry about interference on either of their parts, Bethany. Gealtachta sticking their noses in my business again will end in said noses being smeared across their faces. And if they do so in our match, I will happily fight by your side to send them packing with their Irish tails between their legs. As for Joshua, he will be...preoccupied with other matters, I think."
Again with that soft, knowing laughter from behind the lens. Sentinel keeps most of his expression neutral but there's a darkness behind the calm that's not easily quelled.
Sentinel: "But as my wife and I were discussing, there's no sense in you being afraid or putting on a brave front to cover it up if you really are. Or at least, there's no sense in worrying about it. Everyone's scared of something. Even me. You might find that hard to believe, Bethany, but it's true. The fear isn't the problem, but how you deal it. Do you let it consume you, putting doubt into your every word and action while simultaneous causing every danger, perceived or otherwise to magnify in intensity?
Or do you turn it into a weapon and bring it to bear against its source? See, if this were my old friend Eric talking, he'd be a little irritated that someone was afraid of him. He knows that fear, turned the right way, can enhance a person's reflexes and awareness, making it harder to get the drop on them or overcome their adrenaline. It also keeps them honest. A woman as skilled as you in the ring possessed of that boost would be an even more dangerous opponent than you already are. I can't sit back and tell you not to be afraid. If you are, you are. No one, especially me, would look down on you for it. But it IS something I have to prepare for."
Talon: "So what ARE you scared of?"
Sentinel: "Sorry, what?"
Sentinel stops mid-pour, having been setting about refilling his glass, turning his gray eyes on the camera and the stunner behind it.
Talon: "What're you scared of?"
Sentinel: "...falling."
Talon: "Huh. You never told me that."
He shrugs, finishing the pouring of the drink but not immediately sipping of it.
Sentinel: "Because it's not that big of a deal. I just avoid railing in high places and keep my mind and eyes on the road when I ride. If I don't think about it, it doesn't bother me as much."
Talon makes a thoughtful sound, allowing Sentinel a moment to sip of the fine Irish spirits before continuing.
Sentinel: "You see, Bethany, no one is immune to fear. But it IS one of the main problems in the UWA right now. One of many, I digress, but a large one. Everyone seems to have an agenda and they look upon those who don't share said agenda as enemies to be destroyed. Contrary thoughts and opinions to their own invokes their wrath and thus we end up with the kind of bullshit that's permeated this place since before I was gone. Dark Camelot, the Children, Gealtachta...all are guilty of perpetrating this. They try to rule through numbers, fear and intimidation, doling out violence with pleasure as warnings to any who would opppose them. I don't mind telling you that this sickens me. You and yours, including Ashley, Jeszika and others, are the only exception. Even the Sin City Nights have their moments as they ride the line in between. If one were so inclined, they could say the same of my brethren, the Dead Men. But they aren't wrestlers. They were here to do a job, which they did.
The more I think about all that, the angrier it makes me. But recently I've had an epiphany where all this gang warfare is concerned, which is thus: the Unchained Wrestling Alliance needs a return to proper form, a throwback to a time when people had their priorities straight and clear sight of their goals. When the goal was to be champion, to be the very best, not to consolidate political power and an iron grip on the company's reins. But who, with the UWA so mired in the constant skirmishes and full-blown bloodbaths we've seen for the past several months, would dare step up to try and bring such an event about?"
He takes another thoughtful sip before responding, staring into the mirror across from himself.
Sentinel: "Me."
Stony eyes return to Talon's camera.
Sentinel: "Since Day One I've been about the World Heavyweight Championship. It is my all-consuming goal. You've heard of the Golden Rule haven't you?"
Talon pipes up at that point, giggling as she responds.
Talon: "'Whoever has the gold MAKES the rules!'?"
Sentinel: "Exactly."
The Destroyer responds with a grin, though he quickly turns serious again.
Sentinel: "The champion is the star by which this ship sails. They ARE the flagship of the company whose title they hold, leading it into the future. For a time, Aerynn Donnelly believed that. Jeszika, no disrespect, seems too busy trying to find herself to think much about it. But I, who have yet to hold the title, believe it thoroughly. I won't presume to know what you're thinking or how you see the championship, nor do I know how you'd change, if at all, were you to win that title at Tragic Engagement. I DO know that champions are supposed to set the standard and, like her or hate her, Aerynn did that. Jeszika, if she has the time and means, will do the same. You would also with the same consideration. In that, we are alike."
Turning and walking back over to the sofa, Sentinel takes a seat comfortably, glass in hand, as Talon dutifully moves the camera to follow him.
Talon: "You WILL be champion one day, sooner than anyone thinks. It doesn't matter who they put in front of you."
Sentinel: "Don't sell any of those three women short, lover, including Bethany."
Talon: "Might not even BE one of them, come to think of it."
Sentinel: "Whoever it is, even if it's that addle-brained Kyle Travis, I'll treat them very serious. Just as I'm treating Bethany right now."
Attention back on the camera, Sentinel seems a lot calmer.
Sentinel: "Change is coming to this place. I know that sounds corny, but only those who would be in opposition to it would argue that it was unnecessary. And when that time comes, I would welcome you and yours to our side, Bethany. Wrestling isn't about what they think. It's, as I said, about championships and being the best. It's about proving that every time you're in the ring. The money is good, too, but you can make money doing just about anything these days. You can't put a price on pride, though, or on the accolades that come with reaching the pinnacle. That's what I've always been after."
Finishing the rest of the glass's contents, he stares at the liquor-soaked ice thoughtfully, a brief smile playing on his pale lips. His eyes avert not to the camera, but to Talon, before eventually settling on the recorder again.
Sentinel: "But to reach what I covet, I have to defeat you. Not for a single moment will I look past you. Defeat would set me back for longer than I care to wait, having waited too long already. And now that you know what I know, I feel rather confident in saying that not only will I enjoy this match at Mayhem, but so will you. Two professionals, fighting in the main event to the top of their ability, and may the best warrior win. We do this knowing that any who would interfere and ruin the purity of our battle will be met with swift, violent retribution.
There's nothing to fear, Bethany, in this battle. The only thing either of us have to fear is not making the most of the wide-open future laid before us."
It would seem that there's just enough left in that glass for another sip after all. Sentinel, noticing this, lifts it in his opponent's direction and finishes it off.
Sentinel: "Good luck to you. I know, win or lose, you'll do your friends and family proud against me."
Talon sets the camera down, still facing the sofa, as the timed shut-off starts to count down. She joins Sentinel with her own glass, curling in against him as they put their attention to the view out the window, the scene fading to black for the last time.
