Post by Sentinel on Jun 9, 2013 11:47:24 GMT -4
Overpowering sunlight beams through the dust-laden old window, dimmed and distorted somewhat by the aged barrier but still possessing the strength to heat the Spartan room. By Spartan, of course, we mean the stark simplicity of it…the rough stone walls and floor, the furniture including bed and dresser that are function at best…it could better serve as a prison cell than a bedroom with a few small alterations. That’s not to mention the dust that seems to kick up with each step of a woman within the room as she walks to a nearby mirror. The brass-framed vanity piece hangs upon the stone wall, marred a bit by the same dust and age that stained the rest of the room.
Upon first sight, the woman doesn’t seem to belong there. Dark hair tumbles like a silky waterfall over her shoulders and her simple black gown is tailored expertly to accentuate her athletic frame. She ambles over to this mirror and gazes within, the angle giving us enough of a view of her face to reveal her as Lady Rayne. But this isn’t the leather-clad, cane-wielding mistress who leads Zachariah Blood to the ring in APW. The same strength is in her eyes and manner, yes, but whether it’s the formal attire or the location itself…something about her is more subdued than usual. A noise comes from an adjacent room, the sound of something bouncing off the hard floor and a muttered grunt of agitation. Rayne doesn’t look over her shoulder, but rather through the mirror’s reflection toward the source of the sound.
Lady Rayne: ”We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up, pet. After all your talk the last few weeks, it would behoove us to be punctual.”
Another snort issues forth before the Masochist himself, Zachariah Blood, steps into the room. If Rayne looks peculiar in the long black dress, Zachariah looks distinctly anomalous in a black suit with a white shirt. A black tie hangs loose around his neck, likely the source of his irritation. Now, this isn’t to say that he doesn’t clean up well…but the look is definitely NOT him. Hair pulled back, facial hair neatly shaven and most of his numerous tattoos masked, the ‘dangerous half’ of The Unforgiven looks downright respectable.
It doesn’t suit him.
Zachariah Blood: ”Now I get why they call this shit a monkey suit. Only a goddamn primate would consider wearing it for anything other than a joke. Because they don’t know any better.”
Lady Rayne: ”Oh, stop complaining and come here.”
Rayne’s skilled hands make short work of the tie, much to Zachariah’s dislike. He examines himself in the mirror and almost spits at his reflection in disgust.
Zachariah Blood: ”So where are Talon and Sentinel?”
Lady Rayne: ”Getting ready themselves. They should be coming along any-“”
A firm knock sounds on the old door of the room and Rayne calls out toward it.
Lady Rayne: ”Enter.”
Talon steps into the room in a dress similar to that of Rayne though with a slight alteration to style, as hers is off the shoulder, holding well to her torso above her ample chest. In contrast it also reaches to the floor on her tall frame whereas Rayne’s reaches a few inches below the knee before stopping. Behind Talon is the Silent Destroyer himself, also in a black suit exactly like Blood’s. The difference is that the neatness of his appearance coupled with the formal attire really works for Sentinel. He looks like a high-level mob hitman or some-such. Zachariah rolls his eyes.
Zachariah Blood: ”Stuck you in one too, huh?”
Sentinel shrugs his shoulders slightly, indicating that he doesn’t mind it all that much. Zachariah shakes his head and turns to Talon, inclining his chin.
Zachariah Blood: ”So…can we get this over with already?”
Talon: ”They await us in the northern antechamber. You will try to be as genial as possible, won’t you? I could sense your tension through the walls.”
Lady Rayne: ”He just doesn’t do formal well. Never has.”
Talon: ”Could take a lesson from my Destroyer in that.”
The ladies laugh quietly to themselves while Sentinel exhales a tired breath with a shake of his head. Zachariah doesn’t look pleased at the subtle jab, in good fun or otherwise.
Zachariah Blood: ”Maybe I’ll ask them directly, hm? Maybe I’ll bring up the question of why we have to go to these lengths just to converse with them?”
The laughter stops immediately and both women stare at Zachariah in curiosity and nervousness.
Zachariah Blood: ”Our benefactor…and all whom they associate with…knew what they were getting when they retained us. Walking in there as we should be should not come as a shock to any of them. All this formality and protocol is bullshit. We can’t just walk in, deliver the message and leave? No, because obviously these people are control freaks.”
Though his voice is kept down, it doesn’t quell the nerves of Talon and Rayne. Sentinel’s lack of response is hard to fathom. Does he not care? Does he agree? He obviously doesn’t say. Instead it’s Rayne who steps forward.
Lady Rayne: ”We also knew their proclivities when we got involved with them, Zachariah. We knew there would be times like this. They hid nothing from us. It is time, for what they do to keep us active and out of the sphere of certain opposing parties, to accept this momentary discomfort and do what we came to do. There is no better path for us right now.”
Talon: ”Or is this concern for the fact that we still need to offer up an answer to one Chris Madison for his comments recently? If that’s so, you worry too much. That plan is already in motion. And you will be alongside my Silent Destroyer to make sure the Madman becomes a Dead Man.”
He wants to argue with them, but it is Sentinel’s look toward him that stays his tongue. A simple nod and locking of eyes coupled with a peculiar half-smile from the Silent Destroyer appears to, if nothing else, help Zachariah see that things are in hand.
Zachariah Blood: ”…fine, let’s go, then.”
The scene fades to black for a few moments as the four leave the room. The darkness dissolves a few moments later to show the four, walking in a line shoulder-to-shoulder, down a wide hallway. The walls are of the same stone as that of the room from which they prepared save that there are torches along it, lighting the path. There’s little else of note until they come upon an ornate pair of double doors enhanced with steel frames and bolts. Two large men in black cloaks lift their heads at the approach of the four.
After a pause, each moves to one side and opens a door, showing the foursome into a large chamber with a round table within a wide circle of light. The darkness around this lighted area is far too thick to penetrate with the naked eye, leaving the rest of the antechamber as a mystery. At the table are four empty chairs into which The Unforgiven and the Sisters of Suffering lower themselves. On the opposite side of the table sit five similarly-dressed people and a form in white who stands to the right of the head chair, the form obviously that of a female. There is one other female at the table, sitting two seats to the left of the head chair but the rest appear to be male. The first to speak is the man directly to the right of the head chair, his voice denoting a Mediterranean accent.
Shadowed Man: ”Punctual as usual. There was concern that some of you would not make it in time.”
Lady Rayne: Our apologies for concerning you in such a fashion. There were obstacles, but they were dealt with.”
Shadowed Man: ”Dealt with indeed…as you have dealt with your first two sets of opponents in your quest for us. I am pleased to say that your work has been impeccable and much to our liking.”
The foursome, including Zachariah, nod in response. In the presence of these people, of their benefactor, The Unforgiven are properly respectful…even the resistant Masochist.
Talon: ”Sir Faust, you stated that there was urgent business that required our attention which brought us here today, if I am not mistaken or out of turn?”
The now-named man seems to nod, leaning toward the head chair and whispering for a few moments before turning back to the foursome.
Faust: ”Yes. The original plan is being altered slightly over the course of the next several months. It would appear that your benefactor seeks to make a return as well.”
Zachariah Blood: ”Wait, what?!”
All four register surprise at the news as Faust chuckles quietly.
Faust: ”A surprise to be sure. But it will be necessary by the time your mission is complete for the leader to step in and make their presence known. You were brought here to hear that information first hand so that you could begin the subtle preparations. With that said…”
Talon: ”Wait a moment, sir…are you sure it is wise for our benefactor to tip their hand like that so soon? People may suspect or even prepare for their coming!”
Faust: ”The four of you know full well the capabilities they possess. What makes you think anyone could ‘prepare’ for something like that? Rest assured…it will happen and your efforts in bringing it about will be rewarded. Now…on to present matters.”
Zachariah Blood: ”Chris Madison.”
Faust seems to nod before turning to the man two seats to the right of the head chair. There’s slightly more light in this area and we can make out strands of silvery hair falling over slender shoulders and the subdued gleam of glasses masking sharp eyes.
Faust: ”Yes. Grigori, if you will explain?”
Grigori: ”Yes.”
The silver-haired man nods slowly, turning to the foursome, a hand lifting to adjust his glasses.
Grigori: ”You are aware of his comments thus far, claims that you are…favored…by those in charge of your current battleground. This is not a person who handles loss or adversity well and it appears he is not willing to let go of the perceived shame he appears to feel after being bested by you. Like him or not, that makes him dangerous. We assume you have a plan?”
Talon: ”We do.”
Grigori: ”And you aren’t taking him lightly, are you?”
Talon: ”No, sir.”
Grigori: ”Fortunate. We foresee that he may become an ally in the future. That or we will simply have to destroy him. He will bow or he will be broken. The choice is not entirely his, however.”
Zachariah snorts quietly, bringing several pairs of eyes his way with that gesture. Lady Rayne gives him a withering look but it doesn’t stall him a bit. Faust is the one who speaks first, however.
Faust: ”You have something to add?”
Zachariah Blood: ”It sounds as though you want us to go easy on him. Am I right?”
Faust: ”That is not your personal style, Zachariah. However, that is why Talon selected Sentinel for this task instead. He is more adept at self-control than you are, more likely to accept a plan that doesn’t please him. You, however, are a spiteful creature through and through. It is only against our better judgment that we had you inserted at ringside for this contest instead of Talon…to ensure that our desires are given a chance to prosper.”
Smirking slightly, Zachariah stretches his arms over his head then folds his hands behind his head, speaking now in a dismissive tone.
Zachariah Blood: ”Fine, fine…you don’t want him taken out like the New Dynasty. Sentinel can make that happen with or without a chaperone. But if the Madman tries to get in my face he may not have one when I’m done.”
Faust: ”A calculated risk that we must take. I want it clear to all of you that in this particular case, victory is not the paramount objective. This is a litmus test for the so-called Madman. Sentinel?”
The Silent Destroyer turns stone-gray eyes on Faust who meets his stare.
Faust: ”Make him suffer. And through his suffering, teach him the error of his ways. If that results in a loss for you, so be it. It is nothing you cannot mentally or physically handle as you have proven time and again. You are the only one we trust with such a task as this. Do you understand?”
Sentinel nods once to indicate that he does. Talon’s hand settles upon his own while Lady Rayne watches, seemingly calmed for the moment. Zachariah smirks but manages not to make a sound or gesture that would draw ire. Faust then turns to the group as a whole and speaks one word.
Faust: ”Dismissed.”
We fade out again to the sounds of chairs scooting back, going to full black before the forms rise from them. Cut to a few days later in a swank hotel room that could only exist in a place such as Las Vegas. It’s impossible to tell exactly what casino hotel they’re shacked up in, but Talon and Sentinel are obviously enjoying the moment. The former is lounged on the bed on her side in a shimmering black gown that reaches all the way to bare ankles. Sleep is due to come soon it would appear. Sentinel, dressed in black jeans and naught else, sits at the front of the bed on the edge, staring straight ahead. Talon rises beautifully to her knees and moves behind the giant, her hands settling on his shoulders as she stares into the camera.
Talon: ”You’re lucky, Madman. They have decided that we aren’t to destroy you yet. Were I you, I would suggest playing a few games of roulette or blackjack…see if you have any luck left in you. But keep this in mind as well: just because we’re not going to take you apart like an old toy doesn’t mean that my Silent Destroyer isn’t going to make you suffer exquisitely.”
The thought is apparently quite pleasant as the tip of a studded tongue escapes to wet unpainted lips hungrily.
Talon: ”It’s painfully obvious that you have no idea what’s going on in APW outside your ever-so-small bubble of influence. We commend the fact that you were able to stand up to the onslaught of both Blood and my Sentinel last Monday, that you were able to leave the ring under your own power and had the gumption to make a challenge. But what you did was survive. You did not win, nor did you impress. You survived. Survival is just staving off the inevitable end.
When you mouthed off about wanting a one-on-one match, we wondered for a moment if we’d hit you too much or not enough. How strange that that all factored into the benefactor’s plans. That’s what they call the ‘Hand of God’ reaching down to influence the goings-on between us mortals, I suppose. Not that I’ve had much use for invisible, invincible deities. I choose to believe in what I can see, feel and touch. Maybe you will take something different from it, not that it matters.”
Sentinel nods silently, one hand reaching up to rest upon a hand of Talon’s. She smiles slightly at the gesture, knowing that while he does this his eyes are burning a hole through the camera figuratively speaking.
Talon: ”What you believe about us, these wrongheaded notions…”
She trails off, then shakes her head slowly.
Talon: ”No, not now. We shall give you another opportunity to speak first, to see if the truth dawns on you instead of presumed facts masquerading as lies and hearsay. It’s like watching a low beast twitching from a mortal wound, clutching futilely at the last few moments of life allowed it. It’s enough for you to know this for the time being:”
Pressing her silk-sheathed body against Sentinel’s bare back, her own strong arms wrapping about the dark giant’s torso, Talon glares into the camera herself with acid-green eyes sparkling.
Talon: ”We are your only hope. Your salvation or your damnation as your actions shall determine. You are going to suffer Monday night, Madman, of this you can be certain. Whether you learn from the this banquet of suffering or end up crumbling under the pressure is something our benefactor will be watching most closely. One thing is certain: there is no escape for you. You will bow or you will break and no matter which path you walk, The Unforgiven shall reap the benefits.”
Sentinel nods once, lifting his hands to show the camera. The mere act of clenching thick fingers into hammer-like fists causes knuckles to crack enticingly (or creepily as the case may be). The mere act causes a giggle to escape Talon.
Talon: ”It will only hurt for a little while, Madman, unless you push your luck. Then? It will hurt forever.”
With that, the scene dissolves gradually into darkness.
Upon first sight, the woman doesn’t seem to belong there. Dark hair tumbles like a silky waterfall over her shoulders and her simple black gown is tailored expertly to accentuate her athletic frame. She ambles over to this mirror and gazes within, the angle giving us enough of a view of her face to reveal her as Lady Rayne. But this isn’t the leather-clad, cane-wielding mistress who leads Zachariah Blood to the ring in APW. The same strength is in her eyes and manner, yes, but whether it’s the formal attire or the location itself…something about her is more subdued than usual. A noise comes from an adjacent room, the sound of something bouncing off the hard floor and a muttered grunt of agitation. Rayne doesn’t look over her shoulder, but rather through the mirror’s reflection toward the source of the sound.
Lady Rayne: ”We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up, pet. After all your talk the last few weeks, it would behoove us to be punctual.”
Another snort issues forth before the Masochist himself, Zachariah Blood, steps into the room. If Rayne looks peculiar in the long black dress, Zachariah looks distinctly anomalous in a black suit with a white shirt. A black tie hangs loose around his neck, likely the source of his irritation. Now, this isn’t to say that he doesn’t clean up well…but the look is definitely NOT him. Hair pulled back, facial hair neatly shaven and most of his numerous tattoos masked, the ‘dangerous half’ of The Unforgiven looks downright respectable.
It doesn’t suit him.
Zachariah Blood: ”Now I get why they call this shit a monkey suit. Only a goddamn primate would consider wearing it for anything other than a joke. Because they don’t know any better.”
Lady Rayne: ”Oh, stop complaining and come here.”
Rayne’s skilled hands make short work of the tie, much to Zachariah’s dislike. He examines himself in the mirror and almost spits at his reflection in disgust.
Zachariah Blood: ”So where are Talon and Sentinel?”
Lady Rayne: ”Getting ready themselves. They should be coming along any-“”
A firm knock sounds on the old door of the room and Rayne calls out toward it.
Lady Rayne: ”Enter.”
Talon steps into the room in a dress similar to that of Rayne though with a slight alteration to style, as hers is off the shoulder, holding well to her torso above her ample chest. In contrast it also reaches to the floor on her tall frame whereas Rayne’s reaches a few inches below the knee before stopping. Behind Talon is the Silent Destroyer himself, also in a black suit exactly like Blood’s. The difference is that the neatness of his appearance coupled with the formal attire really works for Sentinel. He looks like a high-level mob hitman or some-such. Zachariah rolls his eyes.
Zachariah Blood: ”Stuck you in one too, huh?”
Sentinel shrugs his shoulders slightly, indicating that he doesn’t mind it all that much. Zachariah shakes his head and turns to Talon, inclining his chin.
Zachariah Blood: ”So…can we get this over with already?”
Talon: ”They await us in the northern antechamber. You will try to be as genial as possible, won’t you? I could sense your tension through the walls.”
Lady Rayne: ”He just doesn’t do formal well. Never has.”
Talon: ”Could take a lesson from my Destroyer in that.”
The ladies laugh quietly to themselves while Sentinel exhales a tired breath with a shake of his head. Zachariah doesn’t look pleased at the subtle jab, in good fun or otherwise.
Zachariah Blood: ”Maybe I’ll ask them directly, hm? Maybe I’ll bring up the question of why we have to go to these lengths just to converse with them?”
The laughter stops immediately and both women stare at Zachariah in curiosity and nervousness.
Zachariah Blood: ”Our benefactor…and all whom they associate with…knew what they were getting when they retained us. Walking in there as we should be should not come as a shock to any of them. All this formality and protocol is bullshit. We can’t just walk in, deliver the message and leave? No, because obviously these people are control freaks.”
Though his voice is kept down, it doesn’t quell the nerves of Talon and Rayne. Sentinel’s lack of response is hard to fathom. Does he not care? Does he agree? He obviously doesn’t say. Instead it’s Rayne who steps forward.
Lady Rayne: ”We also knew their proclivities when we got involved with them, Zachariah. We knew there would be times like this. They hid nothing from us. It is time, for what they do to keep us active and out of the sphere of certain opposing parties, to accept this momentary discomfort and do what we came to do. There is no better path for us right now.”
Talon: ”Or is this concern for the fact that we still need to offer up an answer to one Chris Madison for his comments recently? If that’s so, you worry too much. That plan is already in motion. And you will be alongside my Silent Destroyer to make sure the Madman becomes a Dead Man.”
He wants to argue with them, but it is Sentinel’s look toward him that stays his tongue. A simple nod and locking of eyes coupled with a peculiar half-smile from the Silent Destroyer appears to, if nothing else, help Zachariah see that things are in hand.
Zachariah Blood: ”…fine, let’s go, then.”
The scene fades to black for a few moments as the four leave the room. The darkness dissolves a few moments later to show the four, walking in a line shoulder-to-shoulder, down a wide hallway. The walls are of the same stone as that of the room from which they prepared save that there are torches along it, lighting the path. There’s little else of note until they come upon an ornate pair of double doors enhanced with steel frames and bolts. Two large men in black cloaks lift their heads at the approach of the four.
After a pause, each moves to one side and opens a door, showing the foursome into a large chamber with a round table within a wide circle of light. The darkness around this lighted area is far too thick to penetrate with the naked eye, leaving the rest of the antechamber as a mystery. At the table are four empty chairs into which The Unforgiven and the Sisters of Suffering lower themselves. On the opposite side of the table sit five similarly-dressed people and a form in white who stands to the right of the head chair, the form obviously that of a female. There is one other female at the table, sitting two seats to the left of the head chair but the rest appear to be male. The first to speak is the man directly to the right of the head chair, his voice denoting a Mediterranean accent.
Shadowed Man: ”Punctual as usual. There was concern that some of you would not make it in time.”
Lady Rayne: Our apologies for concerning you in such a fashion. There were obstacles, but they were dealt with.”
Shadowed Man: ”Dealt with indeed…as you have dealt with your first two sets of opponents in your quest for us. I am pleased to say that your work has been impeccable and much to our liking.”
The foursome, including Zachariah, nod in response. In the presence of these people, of their benefactor, The Unforgiven are properly respectful…even the resistant Masochist.
Talon: ”Sir Faust, you stated that there was urgent business that required our attention which brought us here today, if I am not mistaken or out of turn?”
The now-named man seems to nod, leaning toward the head chair and whispering for a few moments before turning back to the foursome.
Faust: ”Yes. The original plan is being altered slightly over the course of the next several months. It would appear that your benefactor seeks to make a return as well.”
Zachariah Blood: ”Wait, what?!”
All four register surprise at the news as Faust chuckles quietly.
Faust: ”A surprise to be sure. But it will be necessary by the time your mission is complete for the leader to step in and make their presence known. You were brought here to hear that information first hand so that you could begin the subtle preparations. With that said…”
Talon: ”Wait a moment, sir…are you sure it is wise for our benefactor to tip their hand like that so soon? People may suspect or even prepare for their coming!”
Faust: ”The four of you know full well the capabilities they possess. What makes you think anyone could ‘prepare’ for something like that? Rest assured…it will happen and your efforts in bringing it about will be rewarded. Now…on to present matters.”
Zachariah Blood: ”Chris Madison.”
Faust seems to nod before turning to the man two seats to the right of the head chair. There’s slightly more light in this area and we can make out strands of silvery hair falling over slender shoulders and the subdued gleam of glasses masking sharp eyes.
Faust: ”Yes. Grigori, if you will explain?”
Grigori: ”Yes.”
The silver-haired man nods slowly, turning to the foursome, a hand lifting to adjust his glasses.
Grigori: ”You are aware of his comments thus far, claims that you are…favored…by those in charge of your current battleground. This is not a person who handles loss or adversity well and it appears he is not willing to let go of the perceived shame he appears to feel after being bested by you. Like him or not, that makes him dangerous. We assume you have a plan?”
Talon: ”We do.”
Grigori: ”And you aren’t taking him lightly, are you?”
Talon: ”No, sir.”
Grigori: ”Fortunate. We foresee that he may become an ally in the future. That or we will simply have to destroy him. He will bow or he will be broken. The choice is not entirely his, however.”
Zachariah snorts quietly, bringing several pairs of eyes his way with that gesture. Lady Rayne gives him a withering look but it doesn’t stall him a bit. Faust is the one who speaks first, however.
Faust: ”You have something to add?”
Zachariah Blood: ”It sounds as though you want us to go easy on him. Am I right?”
Faust: ”That is not your personal style, Zachariah. However, that is why Talon selected Sentinel for this task instead. He is more adept at self-control than you are, more likely to accept a plan that doesn’t please him. You, however, are a spiteful creature through and through. It is only against our better judgment that we had you inserted at ringside for this contest instead of Talon…to ensure that our desires are given a chance to prosper.”
Smirking slightly, Zachariah stretches his arms over his head then folds his hands behind his head, speaking now in a dismissive tone.
Zachariah Blood: ”Fine, fine…you don’t want him taken out like the New Dynasty. Sentinel can make that happen with or without a chaperone. But if the Madman tries to get in my face he may not have one when I’m done.”
Faust: ”A calculated risk that we must take. I want it clear to all of you that in this particular case, victory is not the paramount objective. This is a litmus test for the so-called Madman. Sentinel?”
The Silent Destroyer turns stone-gray eyes on Faust who meets his stare.
Faust: ”Make him suffer. And through his suffering, teach him the error of his ways. If that results in a loss for you, so be it. It is nothing you cannot mentally or physically handle as you have proven time and again. You are the only one we trust with such a task as this. Do you understand?”
Sentinel nods once to indicate that he does. Talon’s hand settles upon his own while Lady Rayne watches, seemingly calmed for the moment. Zachariah smirks but manages not to make a sound or gesture that would draw ire. Faust then turns to the group as a whole and speaks one word.
Faust: ”Dismissed.”
We fade out again to the sounds of chairs scooting back, going to full black before the forms rise from them. Cut to a few days later in a swank hotel room that could only exist in a place such as Las Vegas. It’s impossible to tell exactly what casino hotel they’re shacked up in, but Talon and Sentinel are obviously enjoying the moment. The former is lounged on the bed on her side in a shimmering black gown that reaches all the way to bare ankles. Sleep is due to come soon it would appear. Sentinel, dressed in black jeans and naught else, sits at the front of the bed on the edge, staring straight ahead. Talon rises beautifully to her knees and moves behind the giant, her hands settling on his shoulders as she stares into the camera.
Talon: ”You’re lucky, Madman. They have decided that we aren’t to destroy you yet. Were I you, I would suggest playing a few games of roulette or blackjack…see if you have any luck left in you. But keep this in mind as well: just because we’re not going to take you apart like an old toy doesn’t mean that my Silent Destroyer isn’t going to make you suffer exquisitely.”
The thought is apparently quite pleasant as the tip of a studded tongue escapes to wet unpainted lips hungrily.
Talon: ”It’s painfully obvious that you have no idea what’s going on in APW outside your ever-so-small bubble of influence. We commend the fact that you were able to stand up to the onslaught of both Blood and my Sentinel last Monday, that you were able to leave the ring under your own power and had the gumption to make a challenge. But what you did was survive. You did not win, nor did you impress. You survived. Survival is just staving off the inevitable end.
When you mouthed off about wanting a one-on-one match, we wondered for a moment if we’d hit you too much or not enough. How strange that that all factored into the benefactor’s plans. That’s what they call the ‘Hand of God’ reaching down to influence the goings-on between us mortals, I suppose. Not that I’ve had much use for invisible, invincible deities. I choose to believe in what I can see, feel and touch. Maybe you will take something different from it, not that it matters.”
Sentinel nods silently, one hand reaching up to rest upon a hand of Talon’s. She smiles slightly at the gesture, knowing that while he does this his eyes are burning a hole through the camera figuratively speaking.
Talon: ”What you believe about us, these wrongheaded notions…”
She trails off, then shakes her head slowly.
Talon: ”No, not now. We shall give you another opportunity to speak first, to see if the truth dawns on you instead of presumed facts masquerading as lies and hearsay. It’s like watching a low beast twitching from a mortal wound, clutching futilely at the last few moments of life allowed it. It’s enough for you to know this for the time being:”
Pressing her silk-sheathed body against Sentinel’s bare back, her own strong arms wrapping about the dark giant’s torso, Talon glares into the camera herself with acid-green eyes sparkling.
Talon: ”We are your only hope. Your salvation or your damnation as your actions shall determine. You are going to suffer Monday night, Madman, of this you can be certain. Whether you learn from the this banquet of suffering or end up crumbling under the pressure is something our benefactor will be watching most closely. One thing is certain: there is no escape for you. You will bow or you will break and no matter which path you walk, The Unforgiven shall reap the benefits.”
Sentinel nods once, lifting his hands to show the camera. The mere act of clenching thick fingers into hammer-like fists causes knuckles to crack enticingly (or creepily as the case may be). The mere act causes a giggle to escape Talon.
Talon: ”It will only hurt for a little while, Madman, unless you push your luck. Then? It will hurt forever.”
With that, the scene dissolves gradually into darkness.
