Post by Zachariah Blood on Aug 4, 2013 21:53:46 GMT -4
*CRACK!*
*WHACK!*
*SMACK!*
Each noise is preceded by a whip-like swish of an object moving at high velocity and followed by an exhale of effort or, sometimes, a sound signifying satisfaction. As for the ‘main’ sounds, they resemble the sound of wood striking stone for lack of a better analogy. The noises continue unabated as the camera kicks on in what looks like a basement…an impeccably clean one. No dust to be found here amongst the raw stone walls and bolted-down shelves and racks. Said structures are made of heavy oak fastened with bolts and braces of steel and laden with implements best left to the imagination.
During the brief silence the view moves from the alcove in which the stairs are located toward the edge of the wall, the shot moving around the corner slightly like a sneaking child. Through this we get a glimpse of Lady Rayne with her back to us. The red-trimmed black silk piece tailored to her figure is worn extremely well, clinging to her body in all the right places above the waist but flowing free below that like a robe. There’s another…
*WHACK!*
…and her body moves in time with the sound, drawing back a black cane clutched expertly in her right hand. It’s so quiet when the impacts stop that we can hear a soft pattering and barely-audible breathing where outside of such silence it would be impossible. A stuttered, shifted step makes Rayne’s head turn swiftly toward the entrance to the alcove and the view shakily shifts just in time to avoid detection. It had been edging closer and closer to a full view…enough to see the Lady in all her glory as well as something else: the form of a tattooed, muscular young man standing against the stone wall, his hands grasping a bolted steel bar. The breathing was his, low and controlled, and the pattering sound also emanated from his person in the form of sweat droplets falling from his flesh and striking the smooth concrete floor.
*SMACK!
*CRACK!*
Lady Rayne: ”Hmm.”
Passing off what she thought she saw as imagination perhaps, Rayne makes a small noise of thought and we hear the tap of the cane on the concrete.
Lady Rayne: ”I think that’s enough, pet. You’re due a shower before we have our meeting with the office drones.”
Zachariah makes a note of irritation in his throat before a few pops issue from his body in response to assumed loosening motions.
Zachariah Blood: ”How long has it been?”
Lady Rayne: ”About…forty-eight minutes.”
That’s most certainly ruffled anger laced into the words of the Masochist as he snarls upon taking a few steps from the wall, towards the hiding place of the camera.
Zachariah Blood: ”Disgusting. There were times that I could manage over an hour before you called it quits.”
Rayne’s tone takes on a rarely-heard affectionate quality. The softness is new to our senses…it makes her sound even more appealing beyond the exterior.
Lady Rayne: ”You’ve been working your way back into the routine of the business and on top of that the competition level here is far higher than our last company. We expected that you would need time to make the switch from singles to tag team competition as well as the pressure of working with another instead of going it on your own as you are used to also. Give yourself time, pet…”
Zachariah Blood: ”Time?”
The word isn’t spoken so much as it’s spat out. The ambient heat in the room seems to intensify.
Lady Rayne: ”Yes, time.”
Zachariah Blood: ”No. There’s no excuse for this, neither the acuity of my opponents or some bullshit ‘feeling in’ process. How long have we been here now?”
Lady Rayne: ”We signed our contracts here two months and two weeks ago to the day.”
Zachariah Blood: ”And our record?”
Is that…trepidation in the voice of the usually-unflappable Lady Rayne?
Lady Rayne: Three-and-three for you, five-and-three for Sentinel, with one opportunity at the World Tag Team Championships. We eliminated Sang Réal in that match before the champions snuck in and…”
Zachariah Blood: ”Enough!”
The sharpness and volume of the one-word directive, shockingly coming from the controlled instead of the controller in this twosome, all but shuts down Rayne. She goes meekly silent as Blood gathers himself for a moment, his voice coming out in a harsh whisper now.
Zachariah Blood: ”In other words, Mistress, this sojourn into Action Packed Wrestling has been, in essence, a failure.”
Lady Rayne: ”Absolutely not!”
From silence to shriek, those words have brought out anger in Rayne. Zachariah’s tone doesn’t elevate as he responds.
Zachariah Blood: ”I went through my entire tenure in wAw with maybe four losses, rampaging over every motherfucker they put in front of me no matter their level in the eyes of the suits. I was the first and only man to ever hold the Epik X Championship, taking down any poor bastard who tried to challenge me for it. I defined and retired a championship, Mistress. How many people in this business can say the same?”
We sense that she’s fishing for an answer to that question and dare to poke around the corner to peek again. Both have their backs to us so, for the moment, we watch. Rayne has her arms wrapped about herself, her right hand still clutching the handle of the cane which rests upon her shoulder. Zachariah is pacing back and forth, his attention upon something that was obscured by his form before: the aforementioned title. He stops to stare at it more intently.
Zachariah Blood: ”It might not mean shit to anyone in APW, this title, but to me it means a lot. This was my first title in a major promotion and a championship that was made for someone like me. It emphasized the pinnacle of battling from the bottom and forcing your way through all obstacles to reach and shatter the proverbial glass ceiling. Winning that strap was enough to make wAw’s top champion get in my face out of fear that if he didn’t…I’d be in his first. It was proof then same as it is now that nothing stays in my way for long. I either run it over or destroy it outright and keep going without slowing my pace. Yet here? Here I’m running errands for the Order…”
Lady Rayne: ”Zachariah!”
Rayne’s voice takes a mortified tilt and Zachariah just shakes his head, moving on.
Zachariah Blood: ”Please. Some internet troll would have put that name on blast sooner or later.”
Rayne is torn between anger and fear as Zachariah snorts in impatient fury.
Zachariah Blood: ”And now this little ‘deal’ with Aubrey Parker is turning into a side road that’s dominating our attention. While those piss-ant rich boys Sang Réal are getting another crack at the Dying Breed…”
Lady Rayne: ”Non-title.”
Zachariah Blood: ”…while we run errands for Stefan Raab and have to deal with that little parasite Tyler Harrison every time Aubrey Parker shows her face. One of these days, I’m going to pulp his skull like a grapefruit.”
That comment actually makes Rayne laugh, a genuinely pretty sound coming from a woman so often seen as harsh and wicked. She walks up to the tense form of Zachariah and puts a hand on his shoulder lightly.
Lady Rayne: ”Go take a shower. You need some time to ruminate. I’ll get things ready for our meeting and then we’ll join my sister and Sentinel for dinner before we head to Topeka this evening.”
We decide this would be a good time to get out of sight before they realize that they’re being watched. The scene fades out.
---
When we fade back in, we do so to a rare sight: The Unforgiven, sans females. Zachariah Blood sits on the hood of a polished black sedan in his typical black cargos and a long-sleeved mesh top, a black-with-red-tribal button-down hangs open on his muscular, tattooed frame as he stares at the camera coldly. The Silence Behind the Violence, Sentinel, is standing nearby with his powerful arms folded, doing the t-shirt and jeans look. Daylight lingers even in the late hour, just enough to keep the visible while still lengthening their imposing shadows. Sentinel, when Blood doesn’t immediately speak, turns to his partner and acquires his attention. He gives a nod of his head toward the camera and Zachariah exhales with a slow head shake before sliding off the hood and leaning back on it with his hands.
Zachariah Blood: ”I’m going to make this simple, Shadow: we don’t know you and we don’t want to know you. Your mouth has gotten you into a situation that your ass won’t be able to get out of and the worst part of the whole situation is that we…”
He gestures to himself and Sentinel, prompting a nod out of the big man.
Zachariah Blood: ”…have been the ones tapped to handle your punishment. If you’ve paid any attention to Meltdown or Asylum over the past few months, you know who we are and what we do. Introductions are unnecessary as is you opening your ball-washer to give us the same bullshit that Logan Alexander spewed last time around. We don’t care about your determination to succeed or how strongly you feel about whatever it was you said that pissed off Stefan Raab. We don’t care that we’re seen as nothing more than mercenaries these days or your convoluted plan to get past us with your spine intact. So let’s get past all that and put four words out there that’s going to sum up next Sunday night in Topeka succinctly:
You’re going to lose.”
Sentinel’s jaw sets as he glares at the camera while Zachariah’s eyes…they smirk…but his mouth is a drawn, thin line.
Zachariah Blood: People just haven’t come around to the fact that we are what and who we say we are here in APW, and shocking as it might be to hear me say that, I think the fault falls on us. Men like Brian Hollywood, Chris Madison and Logan Alexander are still walking around acting like they’re hot shit despite having gone to war with us, the former two having done so multiple times. In our previous stomping grounds, Sentinel and I have made careers out of laying waste to anyone stupid enough to sign on the dotted line to face us. And that was before we were a team, when it was just us and our respective ladies raising hell from one side of the world to the other. I guess you could say the big man and I are in the middle of a culture shock.
But that shit stops here. The Dying Breed have something that we want. Aubrey Parker is indebted to us. And in the process of putting you through hell at Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania, Stefan will become aware once again of just what he has on his roster. Call us thugs doing the dirty work of higher powers if that makes you think you’re better than us, if you feel that it puts you on a higher moral level than we are because…well…morals just don’t suit us. We’re in this business to do damage and collect gold. Everything else is secondary. Unfortunately for you, Shadow, they aren’t mutually-exclusive goals. I daresay that Stefan would think quite well of us were we to put you in early retirement. Enough to once again feed the tag champs to us with their pretty belts on the line.”
Something resembling a smile is threatening to appear on Blood’s face but it just doesn’t happen. He stands away from the car and glances to the big man, who’s staring at him with impassive gray eyes. Zachariah feels the look and lifts a brow as he stares up at Sentinel for a few moments before responding.
Zachariah Blood: ”Let me guess: you think we’re taking this clown lightly, right?”
One dark brow elevates and Zachariah scoffs at the expression.
Zachariah Blood: ”There’s a big difference between talking and doing, partner. And so far, Shadow hasn’t been doing shit.”
Zachariah is getting a bit worked up as he starts tearing into Shadow to his partner and Sentinel, seeing the coming storm, affects a thin smile…as if this is what he wanted.
Zachariah Blood: ”It’s pretty damn easy to get up in front of the camera and run your mouth, claiming the office is holding you back, keeping you from competing and making an impact. But outside all his anti-authority shit-talk, what is he doing to change that? Nothing!”
All at once, Blood is in a frothing rage and Sentinel looks utterly pleasant, enjoying the outburst from his comparatively-diminutive partner. The Patron Saint of Suffering turns his ire on the camera, his tone controlled by his words burning with anger.
Zachariah Blood: ”You want to get something done, Shadow? Then go out and do it! Storm that ring and kick someone’s ass! Get in Raab’s face with a chair or a fucking frying pan if you’ve got that big an issue! But all this pissy, whiny, bitching bullshit? It doesn’t count for a fucking thing and neither does bringing up matches from over a year ago that most of the Kansas drones won’t even remember! As if a couple wins against Raab will change the fact that he’s in charge and you’re cashing checks with his name on them!
People like you, Shadow? You’re not fit to live in my world. Where I come from, what makes me a man…it doesn’t allow for a bunch of crying and finger-pointing. You work for your supper and if you don’t work hard enough, you don’t fucking eat. If someone has something you want, you don’t whine. You kick the shit out of them until they either hand it over or you can pry it from their twitching, broken fingers. You feel where I’m coming from, big hoss? Is any of this getting through that blonde skull of yours? Because if not, I can lock you in the Masochistic Vice while Sentinel stomps your spine in half until reality sets in.”
The grimace is as close to a smile as Blood gets. Sentinel steps in behind him and off to the side, his presence adding a certain something to the Masochist’s message even though he’s silent.
Zachariah Blood: ”That’s the difference between you and The Unforgiven, Shadow. You talk shit, we do shit. Our way is the hard way but win or lose we make a statement, an impact. Your way is going to get the shit knocked out of you because you don’t have the guts to back up what you say.
Welcome to our pain.”
Sentinel nods once as both he and Blood stare into the camera while we fade to black.
