Post by Sentinel on Jul 12, 2013 23:27:55 GMT -4
Few more perfect places exist on earth as far as natural beauty and peace. We cannot be sure exactly where this moment is taking place but it’s obviously far removed from a city or even a small town. Large expanses of grassy plain, a few hills rising and falling in the distance and a dense thicket of old trees for a background create a small bit of secluded paradise. The sky is blue, clouds are few and only the tittering and tweeting of various woodland creatures break the silence aside from a soft whistle of wind here and there.
This is not the place to talk about, greed, violence and rage.
The view swings around to the left a little and centers on a medium-sized shed. It’s not some pre-fab from Home Depot or a ramshackle lean-to thrown together decades ago and held up by rusty nails and spit. This is a hand-built edifice, put together with care and purpose in mind. The sole visible window is open and the simple curtain behind it is fluttering in the aforementioned breeze. Every so often there are noises from within: banging, wrenching, carving…many names could be put to them. But they’re subtle and quickly fade. The crunch of stone and earth beneath hard soles gets our attention and the view shifts to Talon, coming into the moment through the back door of a comfortable-looking ranch house that, on accident or by design, we cannot see much of.
Talon: ”You’re here.”
She states the obvious, her expression one of serenity as she approaches. Worn blue jeans hug well to her statuesque figure, worn beneath a simple white tee with a checkered red-and-black flannel shirt tied about her waist. The crunch of natural debris under the hard, flat soles of her boots cutting into the silence far more harshly than her soft voice.
Talon: ”Thank you for adhering to our request of patience. Come. Sit.”
She gestures to a small paved area further to the left of the shed where a dark-stained set of patio chairs and an umbrella-shaded table sits. A cooler sits on the ground beneath the table and a few glasses are set out on the table. The person sent to record this takes a seat, camera still in hand, as Talon retrieves from the ice-filled chest a large, sealed glass jar. Within is a liquid of muted brown, the slightest bit foggy against the light. She fills each glass with some ice and pours some of the concoction into each glass before putting it back into the chest. Crossing her legs, she leans back in the chair and takes a sip, savoring the taste before speaking again.
Talon: ”There’s no need for nerves here. No need to worry about assholes running their mouths or glory-hound general managers looking for leverage and playing their political games. We don’t have upstarts or so-called legends and grand champions thinking they’re going to make an easy point at our expense. Out here…we can be ourselves. We can focus our minds, bodies and souls toward whatever challenge lay before us. And this time around, such challenges have a delicious duality to them.”
The cameraman seems to be unsure about the glass of iced liquid before him, drawing a look from Talon.
Talon: ”You worry too much. It’s just tea. Try it…he made it himself.”
’He’ most likely refers to the Silent Destroyer. The first sip is tentative but before the glass is back on the table and within sight, it’s half-empty. Talon’s smile is a knowing one.
Talon: ”Tastes wonderful, doesn’t it?”
There’s a murmured word or two of assent from behind the camera. Talon adds more to their glass and hers as she continues.
Talon: ”That’s part of the lesson that needs to be taught this time around. There’s knowing and then there’s thinking you know. People think they know what my Silent Destroyer is all about based on just what they’ve seen in the ring and the few times they’ve seen him on camera. Ron Rufio and his ilk think they pulled off a coup at Meltdown last time. Sang Réal and the Dying Breed think they’ll have an easy time with my Destroyer and his Masochistic partner at Asylum. Chris Madison thinks that he will settle things on the final Meltdown a day after our title match.”
She emphasizes ‘think’ every time with subtle gestures and inflections of her slightly-accented voice, an accent that is a bit hard to place. But she stops well short of arrogance in tone or manner.
Talon: ”There is thinking and there is knowing. We turn thoughts into knowledge through pain, destruction and a stiff shot of reality. Win or lose, in that wrestling ring, The Unforgiven are a force. Anyone who thinks losses make a lick of difference to us hasn’t been paying attention. Losses are lessons, and lessons learned well lead back ‘round into victory. It’s cyclical.”
She takes another sip of her tea, rolling around the taste of lemon, honey and a few hints of natural ingredients before speaking again.
Talon: ”At the Meltdown Finale, as far as the foreseeable future is concerned, the cycle between Sentinel and Chris Madison will end. Oh, eventually the wheel will turn and we’ll find ourselves in proximity again, be it as foes or allies. The only question is when and how. But after Meltdown we do not expect to find the Madman in our path for a while. Fate may have other plans in store but I’m confident in my assertion. That is why we choose to address Madison first. Settling the peripheral business allows for our focus on the championship match, when it comes, to be more potent.”
All noise from the shed has stopped where it had become a constant hum under the conversation a few minutes ago. It is enough to garner Talon’s attention, her eyes focused on the door as she speaks.
Talon: ”Madison is the only man in APW right now who has my Destroyer’s respect. He earned that by showing he had the warrior’s spirit, by showing that his blood runs hot when it comes to violence between and sometimes outside the ropes. Right now, the score between my Destroyer and the Madman is even in Sentinel’s eyes; they’ve pinned one another once. This is the rubber match, the match to establish something resembling dominance. As far as I am concerned, take it as you will, my Destroyer is beyond Madison. Two wins to one including the evening that the Madman had to team with the useless Brian Hollywood. However, my Destroyer feels otherwise and that’s why we personally requested this match for Monday night.
The Madman calls himself the thorn in the side of the world, saying that he’s here to shake things up and make the world notice. He revels in being a lightning rod for controversy, prompting most of the fans and others in the locker room to ask themselves multiple times if he ‘really said that’. In my eyes, that makes him a loudmouth with a different kind of ADD, the kind that demands everyone be looking at and listening to him. I personally respect his in-ring ability but his little…shtick…is irritating at best.”
She sniffs in a haughty way, downing the rest of her glass and refilling it again, holding the full vessel in her hand as she turns back to the camera.
Talon: ”My Destroyer feels otherwise as you might have guessed. This is not the time to espouse the agenda of myself or The Unforgiven as a whole. That time will come later. At this very moment…my Destroyer’s message to Madison is paramount.”
She swirls the ice-filled contents of the glass, holding it up to the light so that the sun might cause it to glisten.
Talon: ”And what is that message, pray tell? It starts with something that our compatriots will not like but that they will respect: the fact that only I will join Sentinel at ringside in Biloxi. Zachariah and Rayne will stay backstage and watch as two warriors of an older, long-forgotten stock take artful violence to a new level for the salt of the earth.
Now, I’ve said plenty about the respect between you two, Madison, but there’s something you need to realize before you think that we’ve gone soft. The word ‘respect’ means different things to different people. It’s a combination of how you were brought up and what values were instilled within you through those pivotal years. In Sentinel’s case it means more violence, suffering and destruction are in store for you. And why is that, Madman? That is the question you’re asking the television or computer as you watch this, and rightfully so.
It is because if he has put you at a level anywhere close to his own, it means that he recognizes the need to go the extra mile for that victory. Beating you with sticks, throwing you around like a rag doll and all else, peaks of violence and valleys of suffering…he will drag you through it all and assault you with everything at hand to put you down for three seconds and claim another victory. And he’ll do it without mercy because that is what you have earned. You should feel honored. You won’t be treated like loudmouths such as Sang Réal or Brian Hollywood, decimated as quickly and embarrassingly as possible. You’ll be given a warrior’s death. A first-class ticket to Valhalla at the hands of the man amusingly termed as The Silence Behind the Violence.”
She smiles to herself as she speaks, twirling the glass a bit as the breeze carries through again. In her silence we hear another sound from the shed. Not the banging and sawing and what-not from before, but a sound better described as melodious. A few notes akin to a low whistle. Talon’s attention snaps to the shed for a moment, her brows lifted. Silence again after a few moments…and then she goes back to her monologue.
Talon: ”I have a feeling that you will still ‘do you’ even as I say this, Madison, but the time for insults and trash-talk is over. You know by now that that sort of thing doesn’t phase my Destroyer. You know what he’s about and he knows the same of you. So for once in your APW career, ditch the caricature. Forget this manufactured attitude and way of thinking. Step up, say your piece as we have here and then meet us in the ring. The people in Mississippi…they are slow, unkempt and twelve hairs from being gorillas…but even they can sense the purity of the battle that shall play out before them come Monday night.
There is nothing, Madison…NOTHING…that will deter my Destroyer from giving you his all in that match. Not Sang Réal or the Dying Breed, not our benefactor’s arrival to see about adding a neophyte to our ranks…nothing. Sunday night he shall vie for the World Tag Team Championships alongside Zachariah and that shall be a glorious evening for all of us. But the moment that match ends and the final bell tolls, Madman, his eyes will be locked on you and his soul will be preparing itself for combat most sublime. You really have no idea, despite all I’ve said, how much he is looking forward to this.”
Once more, the low, whistling sounds come from the shed. This time they are clearer and more vibrant. Talon’s attention shifts again as the door opens and out walks Sentinel himself. His gray eyes alight on his lady and on the other person at the table. He sees the jar of herbal tea and smirks slightly, gesturing to the half-empty glass of the cameraman, prompting Talon to fill it with the remaining contents of the jar.
As this goes on, he closes the door behind him and walks over to the table. In one hand he holds something…we can tell at least that it is polished to a shine and that it is black in color, but not much else. He walks past Talon, his free hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he passes, dressed in blue jeans and a black tank which shows just how ripped the dark-haired giant is. Talon looks after him with a steel-melting smile, glancing at the object in his hand before turning back to the camera.
Talon: ”Do you see? Utter peace. How can anyone hope to rattle a man who is so serene? And what, truly, is there left to say where it comes to his match at the Meltdown Finale?”
She looks questioningly at the cameraman, as if expecting an answer. One does not come, obviously, but it isn’t a bother to her. Instead, she smiles slightly and nods once.
Talon: ”Exactly. Madison is usually the one to say his piece first but this time, I expect that he’s looking at things through a brand new set of eyes. There’s a new light on this war is there not, Madman? The moment you shook hands with my Destroyer, deep in the back of your mind, you knew you were in for more than you’d bargained for. Your prowess is indisputable though and, as much as it shocks me to hear myself say it, I know that there is a fair chance that you might topple my Destroyer Monday night. What I have no misgivings about saying, though, is that even if you do win…you will stagger out looking like the loser.
He will make you delve back into your history of matches in Japan and force you to bring the monster you were to the fore just to survive him. It will take everything you have and more to come through this match with a win. Are you prepared to take another year or two off your career for victory? Because that is the price you must pay. Tears will be shed by those who worry about your well-being and hands will be wrung every time my Destroyer sends you to the mat or the floor…or whatever looks appealing. And you will give as good as you get. I believe that. You just have to ask yourself that question every time you pull yourself up to your feet:”
With a toss of her head she sends her crimson hair over her shoulder and smirks at the camera.
Talon: ”Is it worth it?”
The smirk fades as she stands, her expression now impassive.
Talon: ”The moment you hesitate, even for half a moment, the match is lost. Know that, Madman. A flicker of doubt is all it will take to set my Destroyer ablaze. He will sniff it out like a predator smelling fear on the flesh of its prey. And it shall be that one aberration against your visage of violent potency and indefatigable attitude…will be only opening he needs to set this war to rest in his favor.
One mistake, Madison, and you’re finished. Good luck, warrior.”
Her attention moves to the man behind the camera as that final piece is spoken, her chin inclining briefly.
Talon: ”Stay where you are. Lunch will be ready shortly and then we can go about dealing with the upstart brothers and the champions…”
She apparently gets an affirmative from the cameraman, prompting her to move past. The camera briefly follows the Lady of Sin but stops short of bringing her destination into view. Instead, the view fades to black…and the soft, whistling notes play against that darkness for a few precious moments before that, too, fades.
This is not the place to talk about, greed, violence and rage.
The view swings around to the left a little and centers on a medium-sized shed. It’s not some pre-fab from Home Depot or a ramshackle lean-to thrown together decades ago and held up by rusty nails and spit. This is a hand-built edifice, put together with care and purpose in mind. The sole visible window is open and the simple curtain behind it is fluttering in the aforementioned breeze. Every so often there are noises from within: banging, wrenching, carving…many names could be put to them. But they’re subtle and quickly fade. The crunch of stone and earth beneath hard soles gets our attention and the view shifts to Talon, coming into the moment through the back door of a comfortable-looking ranch house that, on accident or by design, we cannot see much of.
Talon: ”You’re here.”
She states the obvious, her expression one of serenity as she approaches. Worn blue jeans hug well to her statuesque figure, worn beneath a simple white tee with a checkered red-and-black flannel shirt tied about her waist. The crunch of natural debris under the hard, flat soles of her boots cutting into the silence far more harshly than her soft voice.
Talon: ”Thank you for adhering to our request of patience. Come. Sit.”
She gestures to a small paved area further to the left of the shed where a dark-stained set of patio chairs and an umbrella-shaded table sits. A cooler sits on the ground beneath the table and a few glasses are set out on the table. The person sent to record this takes a seat, camera still in hand, as Talon retrieves from the ice-filled chest a large, sealed glass jar. Within is a liquid of muted brown, the slightest bit foggy against the light. She fills each glass with some ice and pours some of the concoction into each glass before putting it back into the chest. Crossing her legs, she leans back in the chair and takes a sip, savoring the taste before speaking again.
Talon: ”There’s no need for nerves here. No need to worry about assholes running their mouths or glory-hound general managers looking for leverage and playing their political games. We don’t have upstarts or so-called legends and grand champions thinking they’re going to make an easy point at our expense. Out here…we can be ourselves. We can focus our minds, bodies and souls toward whatever challenge lay before us. And this time around, such challenges have a delicious duality to them.”
The cameraman seems to be unsure about the glass of iced liquid before him, drawing a look from Talon.
Talon: ”You worry too much. It’s just tea. Try it…he made it himself.”
’He’ most likely refers to the Silent Destroyer. The first sip is tentative but before the glass is back on the table and within sight, it’s half-empty. Talon’s smile is a knowing one.
Talon: ”Tastes wonderful, doesn’t it?”
There’s a murmured word or two of assent from behind the camera. Talon adds more to their glass and hers as she continues.
Talon: ”That’s part of the lesson that needs to be taught this time around. There’s knowing and then there’s thinking you know. People think they know what my Silent Destroyer is all about based on just what they’ve seen in the ring and the few times they’ve seen him on camera. Ron Rufio and his ilk think they pulled off a coup at Meltdown last time. Sang Réal and the Dying Breed think they’ll have an easy time with my Destroyer and his Masochistic partner at Asylum. Chris Madison thinks that he will settle things on the final Meltdown a day after our title match.”
She emphasizes ‘think’ every time with subtle gestures and inflections of her slightly-accented voice, an accent that is a bit hard to place. But she stops well short of arrogance in tone or manner.
Talon: ”There is thinking and there is knowing. We turn thoughts into knowledge through pain, destruction and a stiff shot of reality. Win or lose, in that wrestling ring, The Unforgiven are a force. Anyone who thinks losses make a lick of difference to us hasn’t been paying attention. Losses are lessons, and lessons learned well lead back ‘round into victory. It’s cyclical.”
She takes another sip of her tea, rolling around the taste of lemon, honey and a few hints of natural ingredients before speaking again.
Talon: ”At the Meltdown Finale, as far as the foreseeable future is concerned, the cycle between Sentinel and Chris Madison will end. Oh, eventually the wheel will turn and we’ll find ourselves in proximity again, be it as foes or allies. The only question is when and how. But after Meltdown we do not expect to find the Madman in our path for a while. Fate may have other plans in store but I’m confident in my assertion. That is why we choose to address Madison first. Settling the peripheral business allows for our focus on the championship match, when it comes, to be more potent.”
All noise from the shed has stopped where it had become a constant hum under the conversation a few minutes ago. It is enough to garner Talon’s attention, her eyes focused on the door as she speaks.
Talon: ”Madison is the only man in APW right now who has my Destroyer’s respect. He earned that by showing he had the warrior’s spirit, by showing that his blood runs hot when it comes to violence between and sometimes outside the ropes. Right now, the score between my Destroyer and the Madman is even in Sentinel’s eyes; they’ve pinned one another once. This is the rubber match, the match to establish something resembling dominance. As far as I am concerned, take it as you will, my Destroyer is beyond Madison. Two wins to one including the evening that the Madman had to team with the useless Brian Hollywood. However, my Destroyer feels otherwise and that’s why we personally requested this match for Monday night.
The Madman calls himself the thorn in the side of the world, saying that he’s here to shake things up and make the world notice. He revels in being a lightning rod for controversy, prompting most of the fans and others in the locker room to ask themselves multiple times if he ‘really said that’. In my eyes, that makes him a loudmouth with a different kind of ADD, the kind that demands everyone be looking at and listening to him. I personally respect his in-ring ability but his little…shtick…is irritating at best.”
She sniffs in a haughty way, downing the rest of her glass and refilling it again, holding the full vessel in her hand as she turns back to the camera.
Talon: ”My Destroyer feels otherwise as you might have guessed. This is not the time to espouse the agenda of myself or The Unforgiven as a whole. That time will come later. At this very moment…my Destroyer’s message to Madison is paramount.”
She swirls the ice-filled contents of the glass, holding it up to the light so that the sun might cause it to glisten.
Talon: ”And what is that message, pray tell? It starts with something that our compatriots will not like but that they will respect: the fact that only I will join Sentinel at ringside in Biloxi. Zachariah and Rayne will stay backstage and watch as two warriors of an older, long-forgotten stock take artful violence to a new level for the salt of the earth.
Now, I’ve said plenty about the respect between you two, Madison, but there’s something you need to realize before you think that we’ve gone soft. The word ‘respect’ means different things to different people. It’s a combination of how you were brought up and what values were instilled within you through those pivotal years. In Sentinel’s case it means more violence, suffering and destruction are in store for you. And why is that, Madman? That is the question you’re asking the television or computer as you watch this, and rightfully so.
It is because if he has put you at a level anywhere close to his own, it means that he recognizes the need to go the extra mile for that victory. Beating you with sticks, throwing you around like a rag doll and all else, peaks of violence and valleys of suffering…he will drag you through it all and assault you with everything at hand to put you down for three seconds and claim another victory. And he’ll do it without mercy because that is what you have earned. You should feel honored. You won’t be treated like loudmouths such as Sang Réal or Brian Hollywood, decimated as quickly and embarrassingly as possible. You’ll be given a warrior’s death. A first-class ticket to Valhalla at the hands of the man amusingly termed as The Silence Behind the Violence.”
She smiles to herself as she speaks, twirling the glass a bit as the breeze carries through again. In her silence we hear another sound from the shed. Not the banging and sawing and what-not from before, but a sound better described as melodious. A few notes akin to a low whistle. Talon’s attention snaps to the shed for a moment, her brows lifted. Silence again after a few moments…and then she goes back to her monologue.
Talon: ”I have a feeling that you will still ‘do you’ even as I say this, Madison, but the time for insults and trash-talk is over. You know by now that that sort of thing doesn’t phase my Destroyer. You know what he’s about and he knows the same of you. So for once in your APW career, ditch the caricature. Forget this manufactured attitude and way of thinking. Step up, say your piece as we have here and then meet us in the ring. The people in Mississippi…they are slow, unkempt and twelve hairs from being gorillas…but even they can sense the purity of the battle that shall play out before them come Monday night.
There is nothing, Madison…NOTHING…that will deter my Destroyer from giving you his all in that match. Not Sang Réal or the Dying Breed, not our benefactor’s arrival to see about adding a neophyte to our ranks…nothing. Sunday night he shall vie for the World Tag Team Championships alongside Zachariah and that shall be a glorious evening for all of us. But the moment that match ends and the final bell tolls, Madman, his eyes will be locked on you and his soul will be preparing itself for combat most sublime. You really have no idea, despite all I’ve said, how much he is looking forward to this.”
Once more, the low, whistling sounds come from the shed. This time they are clearer and more vibrant. Talon’s attention shifts again as the door opens and out walks Sentinel himself. His gray eyes alight on his lady and on the other person at the table. He sees the jar of herbal tea and smirks slightly, gesturing to the half-empty glass of the cameraman, prompting Talon to fill it with the remaining contents of the jar.
As this goes on, he closes the door behind him and walks over to the table. In one hand he holds something…we can tell at least that it is polished to a shine and that it is black in color, but not much else. He walks past Talon, his free hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he passes, dressed in blue jeans and a black tank which shows just how ripped the dark-haired giant is. Talon looks after him with a steel-melting smile, glancing at the object in his hand before turning back to the camera.
Talon: ”Do you see? Utter peace. How can anyone hope to rattle a man who is so serene? And what, truly, is there left to say where it comes to his match at the Meltdown Finale?”
She looks questioningly at the cameraman, as if expecting an answer. One does not come, obviously, but it isn’t a bother to her. Instead, she smiles slightly and nods once.
Talon: ”Exactly. Madison is usually the one to say his piece first but this time, I expect that he’s looking at things through a brand new set of eyes. There’s a new light on this war is there not, Madman? The moment you shook hands with my Destroyer, deep in the back of your mind, you knew you were in for more than you’d bargained for. Your prowess is indisputable though and, as much as it shocks me to hear myself say it, I know that there is a fair chance that you might topple my Destroyer Monday night. What I have no misgivings about saying, though, is that even if you do win…you will stagger out looking like the loser.
He will make you delve back into your history of matches in Japan and force you to bring the monster you were to the fore just to survive him. It will take everything you have and more to come through this match with a win. Are you prepared to take another year or two off your career for victory? Because that is the price you must pay. Tears will be shed by those who worry about your well-being and hands will be wrung every time my Destroyer sends you to the mat or the floor…or whatever looks appealing. And you will give as good as you get. I believe that. You just have to ask yourself that question every time you pull yourself up to your feet:”
With a toss of her head she sends her crimson hair over her shoulder and smirks at the camera.
Talon: ”Is it worth it?”
The smirk fades as she stands, her expression now impassive.
Talon: ”The moment you hesitate, even for half a moment, the match is lost. Know that, Madman. A flicker of doubt is all it will take to set my Destroyer ablaze. He will sniff it out like a predator smelling fear on the flesh of its prey. And it shall be that one aberration against your visage of violent potency and indefatigable attitude…will be only opening he needs to set this war to rest in his favor.
One mistake, Madison, and you’re finished. Good luck, warrior.”
Her attention moves to the man behind the camera as that final piece is spoken, her chin inclining briefly.
Talon: ”Stay where you are. Lunch will be ready shortly and then we can go about dealing with the upstart brothers and the champions…”
She apparently gets an affirmative from the cameraman, prompting her to move past. The camera briefly follows the Lady of Sin but stops short of bringing her destination into view. Instead, the view fades to black…and the soft, whistling notes play against that darkness for a few precious moments before that, too, fades.
