Post by Sentinel on Jul 12, 2013 23:28:20 GMT -4
We’re back in what looks to be a few hours after the recent message from Sentinel and his deadly beautiful manager, Talon, toward the ‘Madman’ Chris Madison. Strong words were offered and dangerous intentions were made clear. By now, the sun has lowered a bit in the idyllic country setting. The shadows are longer, the sky is burning and the light is just the slightest bit dimmer. Our first sighting as the camera kicks back on is of Sentinel leaned back against the front of the hand-built shed, still dressed in the black tank and blue jeans from earlier. His thickly-muscled left arm is folded across his abdomen while in his raised right hand he gazes down at something we can’t quite discern. It’s apparently small enough to be hidden in his palm and hidden by raised fingers.
He realizes that the camera is focused upon him and looks up. It’s difficult to tell with the shadows passing over him above what exactly his expression is supposed to mean. A thin smile has upturned his lips and his stone-colored eyes are laced with an almost mischievous malice. But despite that, he doesn’t look the least bit malevolent. No, he looks every bit as serene as Talon stated him as being previously in the day. He casts his attention toward the door of the shed, then back to us before gesturing for us to follow. The view moves forward, jostling from the cameraman’s steps as he tentatively steps into the shed along with the Silent Destroyer.
The single-room building is lit well by a few wall-mounted lamps and the remaining daylight. Half the room is devoted to tools and workspace with the main endeavor seeming to be carpentry though there are tools of, shall we say, unknown origin as well. The kinds of things only a well-versed artisan would be able to name and explain. But it isn’t here to workbench or mounted vice that he moves. No, he makes his way to the other side of the room where there’s a modest trophy section…wrestling-type trophies, to be precise. Four title belts hang most prominently within a glass case: the IWA Universal Championship, the IWA World Women’s Championship and the IWA World Tag Team Championships. The first two rest horizontal while the tag straps hang vertical, all bordering a framed picture of Sentinel and Talon holding up the tag belts while wearing the Universal and World Women’s belts respectively.
Sentinel reaches out, fingertips gently stroking down the glass for a moment, his reflection just visible against the well-polished glass. He turns back to the camera presently, staring at it quietly before walking to a small table just past the cabinet and pressing the play button on a mounted iPod. Soft music starts to play…a stirring, almost sad melody soon accompanied by a bit of acoustic guitar. After a short pause and a breath, Sentinel brings up the black item in his hand and puts it to his lips, large fingers moving to distinct positions upon it. The item is revealed as an ocarina before he starts to play a haunting melody in time with the background music coming from the iPod. As the tune continues, we hear Talon’s voice speak over the notes.
”From a self-professed madman and perennial thorn in the side of the wrestling world…to a pair of spoon-fed upstarts and the APW World Tag Team Champions. I cannot for the life of me decide if Sang Réal and the Dying Breed are a step up, a step down or a sideways jaunt into mediocrity. Perhaps time will tell. But there is one perfect certainty pertaining to all concerned with the triple threat championship match this Sunday:”
We can just imagine her licking her ruby red lips at the mere thought of what’s to come, but that’s all we can do. Meanwhile, Sentinel continues his song unabated, his eyes closed as he dips deeply into the soul of the song.
”It…will…HURT.”
Her laughter comes in deliciously wicked waves, not quite overtaking the song.
”To Zachariah, that sounds like sheer bliss and to my Destroyer, a challenge. We’ve all witnessed the unfocused-yet-potent destruction that Sang Réal can wreak and that they hold the championships alone gives the Dying Breed credibility where they might have had none prior. There is no need to plumb your histories here in APW, boys. The past…well, it doesn’t matter as much as the present. You might scoff at my saying that as Sentinel stands before you, reminiscing about a past h and I shared elsewhere…and you would be foolish for doing so. He is not showing off past accomplishments but instead reminding himself of what he is capable of. It is called motivation and it is pure.
For several weeks now we, The Unforgiven, have been making our mark in APW. Through wins and losses alike we are turning heads and making people stand up and take notice. Offers from high and low have been handed out for us to join the various factions, to supplement their power with our own. But our efforts have also bred contempt and ill-fated rumors of us being ‘pushed’ from above by the higher-ups, of delving into unscrupulous activity to cement victories in our favor. And to that I say…are you truly so afraid of the Silent Destroyer and Pain Personified? Must you look for excuses every time something doesn’t go your way?
Had we known that the slovenly saps who plied their trade here in APW were so weak-willed and unwilling to accept and overcome adversity, we would have taken our talent elsewhere. But it doesn’t matter. Excuses pale in the face of the truth, and the truth is that in our first-ever match on Asylum we are in the running for the tag team titles. As other newcomers scratch and claw to make an impact, our collective tears through match after match, ensuring that even the precious few who get a win over us feel as if they’ve been through Hell en route, asking themselves as they stagger back to the locker room if it was really worth it.”
The song presently comes to an end, just as we hear the door opening and closing. Talon walks into the shot, wrapping her arms around Sentinel’s waist and resting her head in the center of his back. He lowers a hand to rest on her folded ones and leans back ever so slightly. She smiles against him, her voice still cutting through over the moment.
”Can any of you say the same? Are there men like Chris Madison who you have helped to put on the map by beating the unholy out of them? Have you ever turned a company on its ear just by arriving and raising hell on whatever opponent was put before you? Or will you instead be regaling us with stories about your long, hard climbs to the top, how you’ve earned every prize you’ve held and how you deserve to be at the pinnacle and…
…you know what? Spare me. Spare all of us. It’s the same tired tale again and again with different faces and names. Once again, The Unforgiven will make our opponents famous whether we win and do so through truncating your title hopes and reign respectively…or through making you prove you’re as good as you think by showing you the abyss and making you scream and scratch to not fall into it. Either way, The Unforgiven will make their mark and continue their ascent while the rest of you stagnate. That is, unless you can prove us wrong and show the world what most have tried to claim in the past: that we’re full of shit.”
She moves away after a moment, pressing the pause button on the iPod and gathering a heretofore-unseen acoustic guitar from a nearby stand. She takes a seat in an armchair off to the side and takes up playing that part of Sentinel’s background music as he once more takes up the ocarina.
”As we play this little dirge for your golden hopes and dreams, Sang Réal and Dying Breed, know that your warning was already given long ago. Every other team, titleholders or not, were put on notice the moment we signed our contracts. What’s coming now, this Sunday…you had time to prepare. Now you have to face the music, so to speak.”
Silence of voice for a few moments as the couple plays the song with cohesion that could not have been acquired by electronic accompaniment. Then…
”Your arrogance has already doomed you, Sang Réal, as you’re still harping on your upbringing and your bloodlines. Unless your supposedly-famous fathers are planning to step into the ring to bolster your efforts Sunday night, your chances of overtaking us or the Dying Breed is quite limited. You know this, deep down, so you dig into your overstuffed bag of insults and chicanery and point out…the tandem names of your opponents and your tenure as a team? And pray tell how many championships have you won in that time, boys? Because, if I recall, in ACW you only managed one reign after many months and failed attempts only to barely held it a month. We damn near slept through the whole reign.
You could, at the very least, try.”
Neither seem to need their eyes for this song…they lose themselves as the music even as the Lady of Sin speaks above it.
”But that just wouldn’t be you, would it? It’s all about style over substance. You care more about how you look and travel than how you get it done in the ring. That suits us just fine, though. By all means…take us lightly. There have been others before you who have done the same. Isn’t it funny how no one sees them around or hears them speaking anymore though? Maybe we’ll do the world a favor and end you the same as we did them. We have the resources and the means, boys, and we didn’t have to be born into it, sucking off our family names in order to get it. We earned it same as we’ll be battling to earn the tag titles Sunday night.”
As the song comes to a stop, Sentinel sets his ocarina on the small table with the iPod dock as Talon rises and replaces the guitar on the stand. We do a soft fade and return with the two of them standing on the back deck of a house which is scrupulously kept out of the frame. Sentinel is leaning his massive frame against the hand-built railing, staring up at the clear night sky and the thousands of stars not muted by artificial light. A few tiki torches give sufficient light as Talon, sitting on the railing itself near the Silent Destroyer, addresses the Dying Breed in real time.
Talon: ”And as for the champions…half of your side was on the winning side at Meltdown in the big eight-man tag. We shall give credit where it is due for your getting the win over us and pinning my Destroyer. You are not on the level of one Chris Madison as far as how he views you, but you are at the very least noted. And targeted.”
She faces the camera with a smile nearly as serene as the mood as a whole of Sentinel.
Talon: ”Holding a championship is a big deal. My Destroyer and I have done it before while carrying singles belts, as you saw, so we know how to reach your level and what it takes to stay there. While the pairing of Sentinel and Zachariah is fairly new, you have seen first-hand the kind of teamwork and ferocity we possess. We talk tough and we fight hard. Ask any opponent we’ve ever been in the ring with and they shall concur unless they’re bald-faced liars. Our advice to you, however, is not to get bold because of your win at the previous Meltdown. There was no prize hanging in the balance and too many, shall we say, chaotic variables, including the uselessness of one of our partners that evening. I’m sure he knows who he is…”
The big man snorts quietly, shaking his head once. Talon turns and sets a hand on his shoulder gently and he nods in response.
Talon: ”New show, new opportunities. Dying Breed, you will live up to your name if you aren’t at the absolute top of your game. Two-time champions or not, you are facing the epitome of an x-factor in this triple threat match. Being in the ring with us or dissecting one of our matches on tape is one thing. Facing us in a high-stakes situation is something neither you nor anyone else, including the jaw-jacking third wheels in this little fracas, have done. Title matches are where we turn up the brutality to new levels. And while that might be easy to say, you will note that by and large we have lived up to our words more often than not since arriving here.
There have been losses and disappointments, but as previously stated none of that has halted our stride. Why else would be vying for your titles on our first Asylum show? It’s either because we’re that damn good…or nothing. That is the only reason. Sang Réal have toiled here longer, mired in bullshit battles and directionless drivel, so one could only conjecture that they threw their vaunted money and influence around to secure this match. Because…if they were as good as they said…they would have vied for the titles already. You can see the difference there.”
Talon slides off the railing and nudges Sentinel over to the side so that he’s facing her, seeking to press her back into his chest. His hands come to her waist as one of hers reaches up, cupping his cheek. Her eyes, however, stay on the camera…as do his.
Talon: ”That difference will become blindingly clear in the triple threat in a few days. If you think we’re wrong, then prove it…if you can. Tell us so and then make your words manifest as truth between the ropes. But don’t think for a moment that we’re going to make it easy for you. There will be no such boldness as to say that we will walk out as champions, only the certainty that, if you do survive us, your next challengers will simply be able to take them. We will earn the gold or destroy those who hold it.
Either way, we will win and we will advance our agenda. That is our way. Welcome to our pain.”
She falls silent and the scene fades to a final darkness.
He realizes that the camera is focused upon him and looks up. It’s difficult to tell with the shadows passing over him above what exactly his expression is supposed to mean. A thin smile has upturned his lips and his stone-colored eyes are laced with an almost mischievous malice. But despite that, he doesn’t look the least bit malevolent. No, he looks every bit as serene as Talon stated him as being previously in the day. He casts his attention toward the door of the shed, then back to us before gesturing for us to follow. The view moves forward, jostling from the cameraman’s steps as he tentatively steps into the shed along with the Silent Destroyer.
The single-room building is lit well by a few wall-mounted lamps and the remaining daylight. Half the room is devoted to tools and workspace with the main endeavor seeming to be carpentry though there are tools of, shall we say, unknown origin as well. The kinds of things only a well-versed artisan would be able to name and explain. But it isn’t here to workbench or mounted vice that he moves. No, he makes his way to the other side of the room where there’s a modest trophy section…wrestling-type trophies, to be precise. Four title belts hang most prominently within a glass case: the IWA Universal Championship, the IWA World Women’s Championship and the IWA World Tag Team Championships. The first two rest horizontal while the tag straps hang vertical, all bordering a framed picture of Sentinel and Talon holding up the tag belts while wearing the Universal and World Women’s belts respectively.
Sentinel reaches out, fingertips gently stroking down the glass for a moment, his reflection just visible against the well-polished glass. He turns back to the camera presently, staring at it quietly before walking to a small table just past the cabinet and pressing the play button on a mounted iPod. Soft music starts to play…a stirring, almost sad melody soon accompanied by a bit of acoustic guitar. After a short pause and a breath, Sentinel brings up the black item in his hand and puts it to his lips, large fingers moving to distinct positions upon it. The item is revealed as an ocarina before he starts to play a haunting melody in time with the background music coming from the iPod. As the tune continues, we hear Talon’s voice speak over the notes.
”From a self-professed madman and perennial thorn in the side of the wrestling world…to a pair of spoon-fed upstarts and the APW World Tag Team Champions. I cannot for the life of me decide if Sang Réal and the Dying Breed are a step up, a step down or a sideways jaunt into mediocrity. Perhaps time will tell. But there is one perfect certainty pertaining to all concerned with the triple threat championship match this Sunday:”
We can just imagine her licking her ruby red lips at the mere thought of what’s to come, but that’s all we can do. Meanwhile, Sentinel continues his song unabated, his eyes closed as he dips deeply into the soul of the song.
”It…will…HURT.”
Her laughter comes in deliciously wicked waves, not quite overtaking the song.
”To Zachariah, that sounds like sheer bliss and to my Destroyer, a challenge. We’ve all witnessed the unfocused-yet-potent destruction that Sang Réal can wreak and that they hold the championships alone gives the Dying Breed credibility where they might have had none prior. There is no need to plumb your histories here in APW, boys. The past…well, it doesn’t matter as much as the present. You might scoff at my saying that as Sentinel stands before you, reminiscing about a past h and I shared elsewhere…and you would be foolish for doing so. He is not showing off past accomplishments but instead reminding himself of what he is capable of. It is called motivation and it is pure.
For several weeks now we, The Unforgiven, have been making our mark in APW. Through wins and losses alike we are turning heads and making people stand up and take notice. Offers from high and low have been handed out for us to join the various factions, to supplement their power with our own. But our efforts have also bred contempt and ill-fated rumors of us being ‘pushed’ from above by the higher-ups, of delving into unscrupulous activity to cement victories in our favor. And to that I say…are you truly so afraid of the Silent Destroyer and Pain Personified? Must you look for excuses every time something doesn’t go your way?
Had we known that the slovenly saps who plied their trade here in APW were so weak-willed and unwilling to accept and overcome adversity, we would have taken our talent elsewhere. But it doesn’t matter. Excuses pale in the face of the truth, and the truth is that in our first-ever match on Asylum we are in the running for the tag team titles. As other newcomers scratch and claw to make an impact, our collective tears through match after match, ensuring that even the precious few who get a win over us feel as if they’ve been through Hell en route, asking themselves as they stagger back to the locker room if it was really worth it.”
The song presently comes to an end, just as we hear the door opening and closing. Talon walks into the shot, wrapping her arms around Sentinel’s waist and resting her head in the center of his back. He lowers a hand to rest on her folded ones and leans back ever so slightly. She smiles against him, her voice still cutting through over the moment.
”Can any of you say the same? Are there men like Chris Madison who you have helped to put on the map by beating the unholy out of them? Have you ever turned a company on its ear just by arriving and raising hell on whatever opponent was put before you? Or will you instead be regaling us with stories about your long, hard climbs to the top, how you’ve earned every prize you’ve held and how you deserve to be at the pinnacle and…
…you know what? Spare me. Spare all of us. It’s the same tired tale again and again with different faces and names. Once again, The Unforgiven will make our opponents famous whether we win and do so through truncating your title hopes and reign respectively…or through making you prove you’re as good as you think by showing you the abyss and making you scream and scratch to not fall into it. Either way, The Unforgiven will make their mark and continue their ascent while the rest of you stagnate. That is, unless you can prove us wrong and show the world what most have tried to claim in the past: that we’re full of shit.”
She moves away after a moment, pressing the pause button on the iPod and gathering a heretofore-unseen acoustic guitar from a nearby stand. She takes a seat in an armchair off to the side and takes up playing that part of Sentinel’s background music as he once more takes up the ocarina.
”As we play this little dirge for your golden hopes and dreams, Sang Réal and Dying Breed, know that your warning was already given long ago. Every other team, titleholders or not, were put on notice the moment we signed our contracts. What’s coming now, this Sunday…you had time to prepare. Now you have to face the music, so to speak.”
Silence of voice for a few moments as the couple plays the song with cohesion that could not have been acquired by electronic accompaniment. Then…
”Your arrogance has already doomed you, Sang Réal, as you’re still harping on your upbringing and your bloodlines. Unless your supposedly-famous fathers are planning to step into the ring to bolster your efforts Sunday night, your chances of overtaking us or the Dying Breed is quite limited. You know this, deep down, so you dig into your overstuffed bag of insults and chicanery and point out…the tandem names of your opponents and your tenure as a team? And pray tell how many championships have you won in that time, boys? Because, if I recall, in ACW you only managed one reign after many months and failed attempts only to barely held it a month. We damn near slept through the whole reign.
You could, at the very least, try.”
Neither seem to need their eyes for this song…they lose themselves as the music even as the Lady of Sin speaks above it.
”But that just wouldn’t be you, would it? It’s all about style over substance. You care more about how you look and travel than how you get it done in the ring. That suits us just fine, though. By all means…take us lightly. There have been others before you who have done the same. Isn’t it funny how no one sees them around or hears them speaking anymore though? Maybe we’ll do the world a favor and end you the same as we did them. We have the resources and the means, boys, and we didn’t have to be born into it, sucking off our family names in order to get it. We earned it same as we’ll be battling to earn the tag titles Sunday night.”
As the song comes to a stop, Sentinel sets his ocarina on the small table with the iPod dock as Talon rises and replaces the guitar on the stand. We do a soft fade and return with the two of them standing on the back deck of a house which is scrupulously kept out of the frame. Sentinel is leaning his massive frame against the hand-built railing, staring up at the clear night sky and the thousands of stars not muted by artificial light. A few tiki torches give sufficient light as Talon, sitting on the railing itself near the Silent Destroyer, addresses the Dying Breed in real time.
Talon: ”And as for the champions…half of your side was on the winning side at Meltdown in the big eight-man tag. We shall give credit where it is due for your getting the win over us and pinning my Destroyer. You are not on the level of one Chris Madison as far as how he views you, but you are at the very least noted. And targeted.”
She faces the camera with a smile nearly as serene as the mood as a whole of Sentinel.
Talon: ”Holding a championship is a big deal. My Destroyer and I have done it before while carrying singles belts, as you saw, so we know how to reach your level and what it takes to stay there. While the pairing of Sentinel and Zachariah is fairly new, you have seen first-hand the kind of teamwork and ferocity we possess. We talk tough and we fight hard. Ask any opponent we’ve ever been in the ring with and they shall concur unless they’re bald-faced liars. Our advice to you, however, is not to get bold because of your win at the previous Meltdown. There was no prize hanging in the balance and too many, shall we say, chaotic variables, including the uselessness of one of our partners that evening. I’m sure he knows who he is…”
The big man snorts quietly, shaking his head once. Talon turns and sets a hand on his shoulder gently and he nods in response.
Talon: ”New show, new opportunities. Dying Breed, you will live up to your name if you aren’t at the absolute top of your game. Two-time champions or not, you are facing the epitome of an x-factor in this triple threat match. Being in the ring with us or dissecting one of our matches on tape is one thing. Facing us in a high-stakes situation is something neither you nor anyone else, including the jaw-jacking third wheels in this little fracas, have done. Title matches are where we turn up the brutality to new levels. And while that might be easy to say, you will note that by and large we have lived up to our words more often than not since arriving here.
There have been losses and disappointments, but as previously stated none of that has halted our stride. Why else would be vying for your titles on our first Asylum show? It’s either because we’re that damn good…or nothing. That is the only reason. Sang Réal have toiled here longer, mired in bullshit battles and directionless drivel, so one could only conjecture that they threw their vaunted money and influence around to secure this match. Because…if they were as good as they said…they would have vied for the titles already. You can see the difference there.”
Talon slides off the railing and nudges Sentinel over to the side so that he’s facing her, seeking to press her back into his chest. His hands come to her waist as one of hers reaches up, cupping his cheek. Her eyes, however, stay on the camera…as do his.
Talon: ”That difference will become blindingly clear in the triple threat in a few days. If you think we’re wrong, then prove it…if you can. Tell us so and then make your words manifest as truth between the ropes. But don’t think for a moment that we’re going to make it easy for you. There will be no such boldness as to say that we will walk out as champions, only the certainty that, if you do survive us, your next challengers will simply be able to take them. We will earn the gold or destroy those who hold it.
Either way, we will win and we will advance our agenda. That is our way. Welcome to our pain.”
She falls silent and the scene fades to a final darkness.
