Post by Sentinel on Feb 24, 2015 8:18:28 GMT -6
The bar's a dive, which isn't denigrating the establishment at all. No, that's merely a statement of fact. The building is old and probably wouldn't pass a serious inspection to save its life. But the glasses were clean and the beer was cold. Most folks in this area didn't need much more than that. The wrinkled old bartender behind the counter polishing a glass looked up from time to time, staring out at the several patrons from beneath thick glasses. Skin like leather, he didn't look like the type to be fooled around with even in his advanced age. The aforementioned patrons were scattered about the place, a couple at tables, one or two at the bar and one poring over the selections in the old-school jukebox in the corner by the dartboard.
Just another standard, non-descript day in the old barn. Until the door opened and several sets of eyes turned in that direction. Things had been rough around town of late, what with Asian thugs making a mess of things and causing problems for the town's most prominent businessman. Already the bartender had taken a few steps toward the west end of the counter, making sure the double-aught shotgun under the counter was within reach. And while the person entering wouldn't have blamed the old guy a bit for thinking what he was thinking, starting trouble was the furthest thing from his mind. It took a couple moments for the memories in his aged mind to register exactly who was approaching the bar, but once he did the old tender registered some small amount of relief.
Bartender: "Dai. Been a while, kid."
Sentinel: "Yeah. Has."
The massive, black-haired man takes a seat on the center-most stool at the bar, arranging the tail of his leather trench behind it. Not his usual style of garment but the weather was friggin' cold. Pushing back the hood of the sweatshirt beneath the coat, he inclined his chin toward the bartender. The rest of the people went back to their business, though a couple whispered quietly to each other once they, too, recognized the big man.
Sentinel: "How's business?"
Bartender: "Enough to keep the place goin'. You back t'stay?"
Sentinel: "I don't know. Ridin' again, so there's that."
Bartender: "Talkin' again, too. How long's it been?"
Sentinel: "Longer than I want to remember."
Nodding knowingly, the old man puts the clean glass aside and reaches into the covered fridge beneath the bar. Procuring a brew for his new customer, he twists the cap off and places it before him. Sentinel mutters a thanks before taking a draw from it. A few other people enter over the course of a couple minutes, each keeping to themselves as the two young women that the tender employed to do the waitressing visited them in turn.
Bartender: "Heard trouble's come back 'round."
Sentinel: "Looks like it."
Bartender: "You stoppin' it or joinin' in?"
Taking a long draw from the bottle, Sentinel lets the brew fizzle its way down into his stomach before answering, staring at the chilled glass in his large hand.
Sentinel: "Wish I was stayin' out of it. But seein' as how it's my mess..."
Bartender: "That kinda talk is what gets you kids in trouble, Dee. Ain't nothin' changed."
Sentinel: "Sad but fuckin' true."
Bartender: "What's the word with the wrestlin' thing? You still doin' that?"
Sentinel: "Doin' my best."
Bartender: "That's what I hear, too."
The door opens again, but not in the quiet, respectful manner that had been observed up to this point. A couple men of Asian descent, the front one bald while the others had spiky and buzzed looks respectively, stroll in and let the door slam shut behind them. Black suits with turtlenecks, tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves necks and cold looks in their eyes...yeah, they weren't here for the ambiance. A couple of the patrons silently lay bills on their tables and leave as though expecting trouble. The rest keep more to themselves. As for the men, they're stared at by the bartender, more so when the bald one takes a seat next to Sentinel, the others sitting at an empty table.
Sentinel doesn't look over at the guy despite him trying unsuccessfully to stare a hold through the big guy. The bartender waits in silence for the guy to order something before he finally gets something.
?: "Bourbon."
A glass and bottle are gathered, the latter taken from the old man's hand before it can be set on the scratched, pock-marked counter. He pours the drink himself though most of his attention is on Sentinel. Finally, after a long sip of the warm spirits, he addresses the Destroyer.
?: "No greeting for an old friend, Dai?"
Sentinel: "If I see one, Benny, I'll let you know."
Benny: "You wound me. Did you forget all the good times already?"
Imperceptibly, Sentinel's hand tightens around his bottle. The bartender looks at him as calmly as he's able.
Bartender: "No trouble here, fellas."
Benny: "Why would there be trouble, old man?"
Bartender: "It follows your kind, pal."
The bald man turns to the older gentleman who stares right back without turning a hair. Shrugging, his attention returns to 'Dai' as he refills his glass.
Benny: "How about another glass, bartender? This is a reunion after all."
Sentinel: "What do you want, Benny?"
Benny: "A favor."
Snorting from amusement he can't restrain, Sentinel turns to the man next to him.
Sentinel: "That's cute."
Benny: "Listen before you judge. I swear you're just as hot-headed as you were back in the day when you and your little friend ran with us. What was his name? J-something?"
Only now does the bartender look concerned; the bottle in Sentinel's hands makes an audible cracking sound as his grip tightens. Thankfully it doesn't break, causing beer and blood to spill on the bar. But any tighter...
Sentinel: "...don't say that name, Benimaru."
Benny: "No need to get heated up, Daisuke. We all miss him."
The word 'we' precipitates several more of Benny's friends coming in and taking seats, which in turn causes more patrons to take their leave. Sentinel isn't unaware of the new arrivals but his attention is still on Benny.
Sentinel: "Say what you have to say, then leave me alone."
Benny: "Fair enough."
The second glass, already set down, is filled along with Benny's own. He pushes the brown liquid toward Sentinel who stares at it as he polishes off the beer. Once Benny has his attention again, he lifts his own glass and downs it, Sentinel's remaining untouched.
Benny: "You did your part years ago. That certain people can't learn their lesson and other 'old friends' carry grudges isn't your problem."
Sentinel: "...your point?"
Benny: "Leave town. Leave old business in the past. Don't look back."
Benny's attention shifts to the untouched bourbon for a moment.
Benny: "And we'll forget that you ever stuck your nose back in where it wasn't welcome."
The Destroyer takes a breath, considering the glass before him. He seems quite taken by the clarity of the liquid and its soft rippling every time the counter is jostled in the slightest. He finally closes his fingers around the glass and lifts it, taking a moment to inhale of the potent aroma as he speaks softly.
Sentinel: "That easy, huh?"
Benny: "Like I said: old friends."
Sentinel: "Mm."
A long drink is taken from the glass, and Sentinel makes a 'whiskey face' as it burns its way down. He chuckles quietly, shaking his head.
Sentinel: "Would be silly of me, then, not to take that offer."
Benny: "It would. No offense, but you're not the guy you were years ago. Getting beaten by a woman proved that. No offense."
That comment makes the bartender blanch pale (or as pale as he got with his dusky complexion), but Sentinel laughed it off. Laughed long and loud, in fact.
Sentinel: "She's a hell of a lot tougher than you think, that Bethany. Shocked the world is what she did. Probably wouldn't have any trouble stomping your ass, either."
Benny: "I doubt that. So what's your answer?"
Attention back on the glass, Sentinel's lips part to respond...and the scene goes to black. Presumably, we're seeing Sentinel now on the bus. Talon is with him, propped up on one knee next to him on the mounted couch, dabbing at an open wound over his right eye. Sentinel's torso is bare, a few bruises showing at his ribs and a thick bandage wrapped around his right shoulder at bicep-level. Seems to have a busted lip as well. Thing is, he doesn't look angry or even irritated. In full contrast to either, the formerly-Silent Destroyer looks pretty peaceful, as though nothing is weighing him down. Indeed, all the concern in expression and manner is Talon's to wear as she uses her nursing knowledge to tend to her husband. She reaches for a needle and thread after applying some alcohol to the aforementioned above-the-eye wound, not even drawing a flinch from Sentinel.
The camera must be rolling, given the static nature of the shot. Sentinel lifts his attention towards it as much as he can considering the delicate work the Angel of Sin is about to do, and proceeds to address those watching.
Or that's what's expected anyway. His first comments are directed toward Talon rather than his opponent or the UWA fans.
Sentinel: "Now isn't the best time for this."
Talon: "Now is the ONLY time..."
It's only when the needle is pushed through his wounded flesh, in one side and out the other, that Sentinel's expression twitches slightly in restrained discomfort. Talon, not bothered by the tension, continues her work and threads the black strand across the wound with a skillful touch.
Talon: "...especially seeing as how you're already late."
He runs his tongue behind his busted lip, drawing in a hiss-like breath and exhaling it as a quiet snarl when she passes the needle through again.
Sentinel: "Words don't matter anymore."
Talon: "They never did where you were concerned, baby. But regardless of how strong they are or are not, that time is over. It's no longer hanging over your head."
Sentinel: "Easy for you to say..."
Reaching off-camera, Sentinel gathers a mug of something hot, presumably coffee, and takes a careful sip from it. It looks strong enough to melt a bullet but his face barely registers a reaction to the potency. Instead, he chuckles quietly...just a few notes...before turning his gray eyes on the camera again.
Sentinel: "But she's right, Joshua. I AM late. That you still walk, talk and breathe is proof of that."
Steam continues to rise from the cup now cradled in both of the Destroyer's hands. He stares into it as he continues.
Sentinel: "I don't know if it's because you're thick in the skull or flat-out fucking stupid anymore. Cataclysm should have ended things once and for all, except you're a poor loser and a worse man. In fact, I can't rightly call you a man, can I? Men accept when they've done wrong and work to make amends. Men handle their responsibilities to friends and family instead of using them. Men acknowledge when they have been bested and accept the outcome.
You are no man. You're barely worth the breath I'm wasting sitting here in front of a camera running my damn mouth while the world goes to hell around me. But that's what accepting responsibility is all about; my heart may be out there with my brothers, and I might be wishing that I was riding with them and settling old business over a decade old, but I have a responsibility. A responsibility to the UWA fans, to my peers backstage, to the man who signs our paychecks...and to you, Joshua."
He pauses, seemingly for effect, then continues in a low, foreboding tone.
Sentinel: "The fans are owed a fight and they'll damn well get one. My fellow wrestlers and our boss deserve closure and they will have it. And you? You deserve to suffer. That's gonna fuckin' happen, too."
Another gulp of the coffee is taken regardless of the still-high heat.
Sentinel: "People like you pride yourself on knowledge, of knowing the most effective ways to take an opponent or enemy apart in any conceivable way. Mentally, physically, emotionally...it doesn't matter so long as they suffer. And you're damn good at it, a point which I hate but must concede. Thing is, you never bothered to try and understand who you were fucking with before you sent your drones to beat my ass down and take me out of the game for six months.
Six fucking months, Joshua. And you didn't have to lift a finger, did you? Did you really think, when you sent your bitch and her followers to do your dirty work that there'd be no consequences? Or were you of the mind that my 'Destroyer' nickname was just something to sell t-shirts? I didn't give myself that name. The fans and my opponents did. They hung that label on me and it has stuck no matter where I've worked. It was earned and, as anyone who's been in the ring opposite me can tell you, it's damn accurate."
He places the mug aside for now. Talon is nearly finished with her work, a few stitches away from tying off the thread. Her every motion is precise and carefully done as Sentinel stays as still as possible next to her despite the subject matter.
Sentinel: "If that were it then, hey, maybe you could be forgiven for calling bullshit and not thinking much of me or what I do. No one would've blamed you for that considering your track record before and a short time after that point, right? The proof is in the lingering fear and the residual effects of your actions. You helped to turn an honorable champion into a raving bitch. You broke down a man to the point that, even despite his return, he's on the verge of having to take time off again for injury. That doesn't count the people you tormented, wrestler or otherwise, while laughing in their faces.
Somehow, I don't think you're laughing right now, are you? Let me ask you something: was taking liberties with myself and Talon a month ago worth it? Did my Angel of Sin taste as sweet as you thought she would?"
The event itself is shown for a moment, reminding those watching of Joshua's assault on Sentinel after an assault by Gealtachta. Slamming both he and Talon into the corner then, as Sentinel put it, 'taking liberties' with the half-conscious Talon. Her own expression as she finishes her work is one of disgust at the mere mention of it.
But Sentinel? He's wearing a dangerous little smile, the kind that's always a prelude to violent retribution.
Sentinel: "What happened after that is nothing compared to what goes down at Tragic Engagement. On Mayhem, I sought only to embarrass you a little and allow my Lady to offer up some vengeance of her own. Sunday, this gets finished. One way or the other. The only thing...the ONLY THING...keeping me from going 'fuck the rules' and not wrapping a chair around your face, McBride, is that defeating you will seal my victory in the Tournament. And you're just not worth giving up on my ultimate goal for."
We shift back to the bar with Sentinel still staring at that glass in his hand while Benny stares expectantly at him. The bartender is keeping his distance but smartly staying by the phone on the wall. Sentinel puts the glass down without drawing from it and turns to stare Benny in the eye.
Sentinel: "It isn't happening."
Benny: "I'd have hoped for this to end without violence, Daisuke... "
Sentinel: "That ain't my name anymore."
Benny shrugs and eyes the half-empty contents of his own glass.
Benny: "Yeah, like you aren't the man you used to be, you don't deserve that name anymore. Part of me hoped this would end without violence, but deep down, I think I knew better."
The men who had come in in Benny's wake rise from their seats and what few patrons hadn't vacated the premises at their appearance seemed to shrink further into their seats. Sentinel kept his eyes on the glass before him, though, not moving out of his stool even when Benny got to his feet, smoothing out his suit jacket.
Benny: "Let's at least do this outside."
Sentinel: "What's your hurry?"
A black brow lifts on the gangster's face as a pair of shotguns cock elsewhere in the room. Three similarly-threatening clicks follow and from a couple seats in the bar and behind the counter step the Dead Men. The other gangsters freeze as the weapons are trained on them, the bartender looking like he'd swallowed a dish rag. Sentinel, still staring at the bourbon, exhales quietly before addressing the suddenly ill-at-ease Benimaru. His hand twitches as though he's thinking of going for a weapon before he feels Sentinel staring at him and pauses.
Sentinel: "Don't even think about it."
Disgusted with the situation but seeing no way around it, Benny lowers his hand and gestures for his men to be at ease.
Benny: "So...what now?"
Sentinel: "Same deal you offered me. You and your boys cart your asses out of town and don't look back. Ever."
Benny: "Or what? You and these thugs are going to make us? The numbers aren't in your favor, Dai."
Sentinel: "You can't scare what's already dead, Benny."
Some of the Dead Men chuckle at that one...sort of an inside joke among the group. Benny doesn't seem to get it and his irritation grows. When he speaks next, he does it through gritted teeth, finally allowing something resembling emotion to show.
Benny: "You're going to pay for this embarrassment."
Sentinel: "You've said that before."
Picking up the glass, Sentinel moves to take a drink of it when Benny steps in close and growls out another biting comment.
Benny: "I'm going to enjoy laying you out next to Junichi."
At first, Sentinel's response is simply to pause. Benny smirks while the Dead Men register concern. The rest of Benny's men watch unblinking as Sentinel releases the breath he was holding. He downs the bourbon with the appropriate twist of his features as the liquor burns its way down. Then, before any of the rest can react, Sentinel lashes out with the empty glass, busting it against Benimaru's head near the left eye. The blow is quick and heavy, stunning the bald man long enough for Sentinel to grab him by the throat and bend him backwards over the bar. Ten feet away, Shawn takes a step forward.
Shawn Crowe: "Brother, not here..."
Benny fights back against Sentinel's grip until one of the edges of the broken glass is brought within a few hairs of his eye. Blood drips from the wound, running in a line or two down his face. The scary part of it all is how calm Sentinel looks as he bears that weapon, one slip away from slicing the man's eye open.
Sentinel: "Next time I see you there better be a goddamn army at your back, because it'll take every bullet you can buy to bring me down before I carve your face off."
Throwing the broken glass aside, Sentinel yanks Benny away from the bar and shoves him forward. Rather than pressing the issue, Benimaru straightens out his jacket and motions for his men to follow him out. Once they're gone, the Dead Men put away their ordinance and Shawn comes up to Sentinel, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Shawn Crowe: "What now?"
Sentinel: "When's the meeting with Robert?"
Shawn Crowe: "Tomorrow morning, clubhouse."
Sentinel: "We'll deal with this then."
The view ripples and fades, bringing us back to the bus. Talon, finishing up, sits back and gathers up a bandage to cover the stitches. Sentinel has taken the coffee cup again and is in the process of gulping down some more. It's as though only a few moments have passed since the shift and there's still a few things left to say.
Sentinel: "I'm not like the people that came before me, Joshua. Half of my ancestors would carry grudges over lifetimes and generations, ripping entire families to shreds for less than the shit you've pulled. The other half weren't nearly so vengeful, instead being content to let their enemies bury themselves under their own sins. I'm neither stubborn enough to let this grudge continue to fester nor patient enough to watch you destroy yourself. I'd rather tear you apart with my bare hands and end this here and now.
Sunday night sees this get settled. Between the bells I'll beat you to within an inch of your life before putting you down for a three-count because, again, I'm not going to throw away my future because of you. Once that bell rings and my arm is raised, though...I will wipe you from the UWA like a stain. The world will remember the night of March 1st, 2015 as the day you were erased from existence."
He gets to his feet once the bandage is in place with Talon moving past to pick up the camera. She turns it on him just as he turns to walk away.
Talon: "...done already?"
Sentinel: "I have business to take care of."
Talon: "We're still half a day away from Topeka and we have events to attend before the show!"
Sentinel: "I'm just making some calls, Ren."
She walks over to him, getting a close shot of him looking over his shoulder at her.
Talon: "You need to be focused on the match now, not on what's going down back home. Shawn and the others will be fine until you're finished here. Please...let it be."
Sentinel: "If Shawn tells me the same, fine."
Talon: "...all right."
Resuming his walk toward the back of the bus, Sentinel is soon out of sight behind a door and the camera is shut off.
Just another standard, non-descript day in the old barn. Until the door opened and several sets of eyes turned in that direction. Things had been rough around town of late, what with Asian thugs making a mess of things and causing problems for the town's most prominent businessman. Already the bartender had taken a few steps toward the west end of the counter, making sure the double-aught shotgun under the counter was within reach. And while the person entering wouldn't have blamed the old guy a bit for thinking what he was thinking, starting trouble was the furthest thing from his mind. It took a couple moments for the memories in his aged mind to register exactly who was approaching the bar, but once he did the old tender registered some small amount of relief.
Bartender: "Dai. Been a while, kid."
Sentinel: "Yeah. Has."
The massive, black-haired man takes a seat on the center-most stool at the bar, arranging the tail of his leather trench behind it. Not his usual style of garment but the weather was friggin' cold. Pushing back the hood of the sweatshirt beneath the coat, he inclined his chin toward the bartender. The rest of the people went back to their business, though a couple whispered quietly to each other once they, too, recognized the big man.
Sentinel: "How's business?"
Bartender: "Enough to keep the place goin'. You back t'stay?"
Sentinel: "I don't know. Ridin' again, so there's that."
Bartender: "Talkin' again, too. How long's it been?"
Sentinel: "Longer than I want to remember."
Nodding knowingly, the old man puts the clean glass aside and reaches into the covered fridge beneath the bar. Procuring a brew for his new customer, he twists the cap off and places it before him. Sentinel mutters a thanks before taking a draw from it. A few other people enter over the course of a couple minutes, each keeping to themselves as the two young women that the tender employed to do the waitressing visited them in turn.
Bartender: "Heard trouble's come back 'round."
Sentinel: "Looks like it."
Bartender: "You stoppin' it or joinin' in?"
Taking a long draw from the bottle, Sentinel lets the brew fizzle its way down into his stomach before answering, staring at the chilled glass in his large hand.
Sentinel: "Wish I was stayin' out of it. But seein' as how it's my mess..."
Bartender: "That kinda talk is what gets you kids in trouble, Dee. Ain't nothin' changed."
Sentinel: "Sad but fuckin' true."
Bartender: "What's the word with the wrestlin' thing? You still doin' that?"
Sentinel: "Doin' my best."
Bartender: "That's what I hear, too."
The door opens again, but not in the quiet, respectful manner that had been observed up to this point. A couple men of Asian descent, the front one bald while the others had spiky and buzzed looks respectively, stroll in and let the door slam shut behind them. Black suits with turtlenecks, tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves necks and cold looks in their eyes...yeah, they weren't here for the ambiance. A couple of the patrons silently lay bills on their tables and leave as though expecting trouble. The rest keep more to themselves. As for the men, they're stared at by the bartender, more so when the bald one takes a seat next to Sentinel, the others sitting at an empty table.
Sentinel doesn't look over at the guy despite him trying unsuccessfully to stare a hold through the big guy. The bartender waits in silence for the guy to order something before he finally gets something.
?: "Bourbon."
A glass and bottle are gathered, the latter taken from the old man's hand before it can be set on the scratched, pock-marked counter. He pours the drink himself though most of his attention is on Sentinel. Finally, after a long sip of the warm spirits, he addresses the Destroyer.
?: "No greeting for an old friend, Dai?"
Sentinel: "If I see one, Benny, I'll let you know."
Benny: "You wound me. Did you forget all the good times already?"
Imperceptibly, Sentinel's hand tightens around his bottle. The bartender looks at him as calmly as he's able.
Bartender: "No trouble here, fellas."
Benny: "Why would there be trouble, old man?"
Bartender: "It follows your kind, pal."
The bald man turns to the older gentleman who stares right back without turning a hair. Shrugging, his attention returns to 'Dai' as he refills his glass.
Benny: "How about another glass, bartender? This is a reunion after all."
Sentinel: "What do you want, Benny?"
Benny: "A favor."
Snorting from amusement he can't restrain, Sentinel turns to the man next to him.
Sentinel: "That's cute."
Benny: "Listen before you judge. I swear you're just as hot-headed as you were back in the day when you and your little friend ran with us. What was his name? J-something?"
Only now does the bartender look concerned; the bottle in Sentinel's hands makes an audible cracking sound as his grip tightens. Thankfully it doesn't break, causing beer and blood to spill on the bar. But any tighter...
Sentinel: "...don't say that name, Benimaru."
Benny: "No need to get heated up, Daisuke. We all miss him."
The word 'we' precipitates several more of Benny's friends coming in and taking seats, which in turn causes more patrons to take their leave. Sentinel isn't unaware of the new arrivals but his attention is still on Benny.
Sentinel: "Say what you have to say, then leave me alone."
Benny: "Fair enough."
The second glass, already set down, is filled along with Benny's own. He pushes the brown liquid toward Sentinel who stares at it as he polishes off the beer. Once Benny has his attention again, he lifts his own glass and downs it, Sentinel's remaining untouched.
Benny: "You did your part years ago. That certain people can't learn their lesson and other 'old friends' carry grudges isn't your problem."
Sentinel: "...your point?"
Benny: "Leave town. Leave old business in the past. Don't look back."
Benny's attention shifts to the untouched bourbon for a moment.
Benny: "And we'll forget that you ever stuck your nose back in where it wasn't welcome."
The Destroyer takes a breath, considering the glass before him. He seems quite taken by the clarity of the liquid and its soft rippling every time the counter is jostled in the slightest. He finally closes his fingers around the glass and lifts it, taking a moment to inhale of the potent aroma as he speaks softly.
Sentinel: "That easy, huh?"
Benny: "Like I said: old friends."
Sentinel: "Mm."
A long drink is taken from the glass, and Sentinel makes a 'whiskey face' as it burns its way down. He chuckles quietly, shaking his head.
Sentinel: "Would be silly of me, then, not to take that offer."
Benny: "It would. No offense, but you're not the guy you were years ago. Getting beaten by a woman proved that. No offense."
That comment makes the bartender blanch pale (or as pale as he got with his dusky complexion), but Sentinel laughed it off. Laughed long and loud, in fact.
Sentinel: "She's a hell of a lot tougher than you think, that Bethany. Shocked the world is what she did. Probably wouldn't have any trouble stomping your ass, either."
Benny: "I doubt that. So what's your answer?"
Attention back on the glass, Sentinel's lips part to respond...and the scene goes to black. Presumably, we're seeing Sentinel now on the bus. Talon is with him, propped up on one knee next to him on the mounted couch, dabbing at an open wound over his right eye. Sentinel's torso is bare, a few bruises showing at his ribs and a thick bandage wrapped around his right shoulder at bicep-level. Seems to have a busted lip as well. Thing is, he doesn't look angry or even irritated. In full contrast to either, the formerly-Silent Destroyer looks pretty peaceful, as though nothing is weighing him down. Indeed, all the concern in expression and manner is Talon's to wear as she uses her nursing knowledge to tend to her husband. She reaches for a needle and thread after applying some alcohol to the aforementioned above-the-eye wound, not even drawing a flinch from Sentinel.
The camera must be rolling, given the static nature of the shot. Sentinel lifts his attention towards it as much as he can considering the delicate work the Angel of Sin is about to do, and proceeds to address those watching.
Or that's what's expected anyway. His first comments are directed toward Talon rather than his opponent or the UWA fans.
Sentinel: "Now isn't the best time for this."
Talon: "Now is the ONLY time..."
It's only when the needle is pushed through his wounded flesh, in one side and out the other, that Sentinel's expression twitches slightly in restrained discomfort. Talon, not bothered by the tension, continues her work and threads the black strand across the wound with a skillful touch.
Talon: "...especially seeing as how you're already late."
He runs his tongue behind his busted lip, drawing in a hiss-like breath and exhaling it as a quiet snarl when she passes the needle through again.
Sentinel: "Words don't matter anymore."
Talon: "They never did where you were concerned, baby. But regardless of how strong they are or are not, that time is over. It's no longer hanging over your head."
Sentinel: "Easy for you to say..."
Reaching off-camera, Sentinel gathers a mug of something hot, presumably coffee, and takes a careful sip from it. It looks strong enough to melt a bullet but his face barely registers a reaction to the potency. Instead, he chuckles quietly...just a few notes...before turning his gray eyes on the camera again.
Sentinel: "But she's right, Joshua. I AM late. That you still walk, talk and breathe is proof of that."
Steam continues to rise from the cup now cradled in both of the Destroyer's hands. He stares into it as he continues.
Sentinel: "I don't know if it's because you're thick in the skull or flat-out fucking stupid anymore. Cataclysm should have ended things once and for all, except you're a poor loser and a worse man. In fact, I can't rightly call you a man, can I? Men accept when they've done wrong and work to make amends. Men handle their responsibilities to friends and family instead of using them. Men acknowledge when they have been bested and accept the outcome.
You are no man. You're barely worth the breath I'm wasting sitting here in front of a camera running my damn mouth while the world goes to hell around me. But that's what accepting responsibility is all about; my heart may be out there with my brothers, and I might be wishing that I was riding with them and settling old business over a decade old, but I have a responsibility. A responsibility to the UWA fans, to my peers backstage, to the man who signs our paychecks...and to you, Joshua."
He pauses, seemingly for effect, then continues in a low, foreboding tone.
Sentinel: "The fans are owed a fight and they'll damn well get one. My fellow wrestlers and our boss deserve closure and they will have it. And you? You deserve to suffer. That's gonna fuckin' happen, too."
Another gulp of the coffee is taken regardless of the still-high heat.
Sentinel: "People like you pride yourself on knowledge, of knowing the most effective ways to take an opponent or enemy apart in any conceivable way. Mentally, physically, emotionally...it doesn't matter so long as they suffer. And you're damn good at it, a point which I hate but must concede. Thing is, you never bothered to try and understand who you were fucking with before you sent your drones to beat my ass down and take me out of the game for six months.
Six fucking months, Joshua. And you didn't have to lift a finger, did you? Did you really think, when you sent your bitch and her followers to do your dirty work that there'd be no consequences? Or were you of the mind that my 'Destroyer' nickname was just something to sell t-shirts? I didn't give myself that name. The fans and my opponents did. They hung that label on me and it has stuck no matter where I've worked. It was earned and, as anyone who's been in the ring opposite me can tell you, it's damn accurate."
He places the mug aside for now. Talon is nearly finished with her work, a few stitches away from tying off the thread. Her every motion is precise and carefully done as Sentinel stays as still as possible next to her despite the subject matter.
Sentinel: "If that were it then, hey, maybe you could be forgiven for calling bullshit and not thinking much of me or what I do. No one would've blamed you for that considering your track record before and a short time after that point, right? The proof is in the lingering fear and the residual effects of your actions. You helped to turn an honorable champion into a raving bitch. You broke down a man to the point that, even despite his return, he's on the verge of having to take time off again for injury. That doesn't count the people you tormented, wrestler or otherwise, while laughing in their faces.
Somehow, I don't think you're laughing right now, are you? Let me ask you something: was taking liberties with myself and Talon a month ago worth it? Did my Angel of Sin taste as sweet as you thought she would?"
The event itself is shown for a moment, reminding those watching of Joshua's assault on Sentinel after an assault by Gealtachta. Slamming both he and Talon into the corner then, as Sentinel put it, 'taking liberties' with the half-conscious Talon. Her own expression as she finishes her work is one of disgust at the mere mention of it.
But Sentinel? He's wearing a dangerous little smile, the kind that's always a prelude to violent retribution.
Sentinel: "What happened after that is nothing compared to what goes down at Tragic Engagement. On Mayhem, I sought only to embarrass you a little and allow my Lady to offer up some vengeance of her own. Sunday, this gets finished. One way or the other. The only thing...the ONLY THING...keeping me from going 'fuck the rules' and not wrapping a chair around your face, McBride, is that defeating you will seal my victory in the Tournament. And you're just not worth giving up on my ultimate goal for."
We shift back to the bar with Sentinel still staring at that glass in his hand while Benny stares expectantly at him. The bartender is keeping his distance but smartly staying by the phone on the wall. Sentinel puts the glass down without drawing from it and turns to stare Benny in the eye.
Sentinel: "It isn't happening."
Benny: "I'd have hoped for this to end without violence, Daisuke... "
Sentinel: "That ain't my name anymore."
Benny shrugs and eyes the half-empty contents of his own glass.
Benny: "Yeah, like you aren't the man you used to be, you don't deserve that name anymore. Part of me hoped this would end without violence, but deep down, I think I knew better."
The men who had come in in Benny's wake rise from their seats and what few patrons hadn't vacated the premises at their appearance seemed to shrink further into their seats. Sentinel kept his eyes on the glass before him, though, not moving out of his stool even when Benny got to his feet, smoothing out his suit jacket.
Benny: "Let's at least do this outside."
Sentinel: "What's your hurry?"
A black brow lifts on the gangster's face as a pair of shotguns cock elsewhere in the room. Three similarly-threatening clicks follow and from a couple seats in the bar and behind the counter step the Dead Men. The other gangsters freeze as the weapons are trained on them, the bartender looking like he'd swallowed a dish rag. Sentinel, still staring at the bourbon, exhales quietly before addressing the suddenly ill-at-ease Benimaru. His hand twitches as though he's thinking of going for a weapon before he feels Sentinel staring at him and pauses.
Sentinel: "Don't even think about it."
Disgusted with the situation but seeing no way around it, Benny lowers his hand and gestures for his men to be at ease.
Benny: "So...what now?"
Sentinel: "Same deal you offered me. You and your boys cart your asses out of town and don't look back. Ever."
Benny: "Or what? You and these thugs are going to make us? The numbers aren't in your favor, Dai."
Sentinel: "You can't scare what's already dead, Benny."
Some of the Dead Men chuckle at that one...sort of an inside joke among the group. Benny doesn't seem to get it and his irritation grows. When he speaks next, he does it through gritted teeth, finally allowing something resembling emotion to show.
Benny: "You're going to pay for this embarrassment."
Sentinel: "You've said that before."
Picking up the glass, Sentinel moves to take a drink of it when Benny steps in close and growls out another biting comment.
Benny: "I'm going to enjoy laying you out next to Junichi."
At first, Sentinel's response is simply to pause. Benny smirks while the Dead Men register concern. The rest of Benny's men watch unblinking as Sentinel releases the breath he was holding. He downs the bourbon with the appropriate twist of his features as the liquor burns its way down. Then, before any of the rest can react, Sentinel lashes out with the empty glass, busting it against Benimaru's head near the left eye. The blow is quick and heavy, stunning the bald man long enough for Sentinel to grab him by the throat and bend him backwards over the bar. Ten feet away, Shawn takes a step forward.
Shawn Crowe: "Brother, not here..."
Benny fights back against Sentinel's grip until one of the edges of the broken glass is brought within a few hairs of his eye. Blood drips from the wound, running in a line or two down his face. The scary part of it all is how calm Sentinel looks as he bears that weapon, one slip away from slicing the man's eye open.
Sentinel: "Next time I see you there better be a goddamn army at your back, because it'll take every bullet you can buy to bring me down before I carve your face off."
Throwing the broken glass aside, Sentinel yanks Benny away from the bar and shoves him forward. Rather than pressing the issue, Benimaru straightens out his jacket and motions for his men to follow him out. Once they're gone, the Dead Men put away their ordinance and Shawn comes up to Sentinel, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Shawn Crowe: "What now?"
Sentinel: "When's the meeting with Robert?"
Shawn Crowe: "Tomorrow morning, clubhouse."
Sentinel: "We'll deal with this then."
The view ripples and fades, bringing us back to the bus. Talon, finishing up, sits back and gathers up a bandage to cover the stitches. Sentinel has taken the coffee cup again and is in the process of gulping down some more. It's as though only a few moments have passed since the shift and there's still a few things left to say.
Sentinel: "I'm not like the people that came before me, Joshua. Half of my ancestors would carry grudges over lifetimes and generations, ripping entire families to shreds for less than the shit you've pulled. The other half weren't nearly so vengeful, instead being content to let their enemies bury themselves under their own sins. I'm neither stubborn enough to let this grudge continue to fester nor patient enough to watch you destroy yourself. I'd rather tear you apart with my bare hands and end this here and now.
Sunday night sees this get settled. Between the bells I'll beat you to within an inch of your life before putting you down for a three-count because, again, I'm not going to throw away my future because of you. Once that bell rings and my arm is raised, though...I will wipe you from the UWA like a stain. The world will remember the night of March 1st, 2015 as the day you were erased from existence."
He gets to his feet once the bandage is in place with Talon moving past to pick up the camera. She turns it on him just as he turns to walk away.
Talon: "...done already?"
Sentinel: "I have business to take care of."
Talon: "We're still half a day away from Topeka and we have events to attend before the show!"
Sentinel: "I'm just making some calls, Ren."
She walks over to him, getting a close shot of him looking over his shoulder at her.
Talon: "You need to be focused on the match now, not on what's going down back home. Shawn and the others will be fine until you're finished here. Please...let it be."
Sentinel: "If Shawn tells me the same, fine."
Talon: "...all right."
Resuming his walk toward the back of the bus, Sentinel is soon out of sight behind a door and the camera is shut off.
