| Our Song #1 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 18 2016, 07:49 AM (27 Views) | |
| Kilminster | May 18 2016, 07:49 AM Post #1 |
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《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 Sometimes, an end is not an end. Sometimes, a thing is not dead until a sword is driven through its heart and every drop of blood has made it’s mark on the scorched Earth beneath. Sometimes, what we deem to be a lifeless corpse reanimates itself as we turn our back, attacking from behind and seeking to bring about our premature demise. It’s one of the most basic lessons we learn in life - to make sure that once a thing is done, it is done - but it is the one most often forgotten. Leaving a bridge to turn back to is to leave open a pathway to be assailed unexpectedly by things we thought we’d left behind. Kill everything. Burn everything. Carry forth no burden. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 New people, new people everywhere. In their time in Boston, Shaun and Jurgen had networked extensively, using the local gym communities and the clubbing scene to introduce themselves to an extraordinary number of people. Many, including Osbourne, had thought they were doing so just to get free drinks and to lure in more and more girls, but it seems that they had a greater plan in mind and one which had only been given the nourishing water about the seed when Osbourne had suggested bringing in more training partners for his students. They’d been eating eachother alive for weeks, months even. Two men who had been overgrown boys in the shadow of their eminent father figure had grown to be alpha males in their own right, flourishing under his tutelage, but soon beginning to outgrow their surroundings and their frustrations being increasingly taken out on eachother, atleast verbally. Osbourne had been insightful enough to know that things had to change before the Institute imploded and, now, their networking had paid off. Men and women Shaun and Jurgen had met in gyms, working doors and bars at clubs, at local powerlifting meets and even, apparently, at a small-time “backyard” boxing organisation had all heard the call and flocked to their facility and sought to make the most of it, in a matter of just days settling in and considering it their second home. The men in the ring leaping about the ropes and throwing kicks and punches from all manner of angles, showing Shaun Sinclair how he can twist his body mid-flow to add torque and increase the impact of his strikes may well consider it a second home. The giants rolling on the mats with Jurgen Johanssen, showing him expert ways to utilise his insane raw power to escape submissions may well have become accustomed to the place and thought of it as their second home. For the man sat on the small bleacher stand section, looking out at the busy facility, it IS his home. Devoid of modern luxury as it may be, he works his body here and lays his head here and, to him, that is home. He runs his hand along the growing mop of hair on his head, originally high and tight, but now in need of a trim. Without so much as a word, he stands and walks across the middle of the facility floor to head up the staircase, seen by all but acknowledging none as he ascends to his own personal space, the one area of the facility where no other may ever enter, on pain of death. Kicking his bedroom door shut behind him, he takes a seat on the edge of his bed and sighs out a long breath. For the last few days, he’s found himself just sighing, not even knowing why in each given moment, but the lightest of scratches at the surface reveal the real cause - one not even thinly-veiled from those closest to him. Shaun and Jurgen see it and stay quiet, their mouths often hanging open as they search for words but find none, none that can even fully express their own thoughts about the situation, much less offer any alleviation for the turmoil tearing up their tutor from the inside. He reaches to his side, under his pillow and pulls out his most prized possessions - the old half-melted faceplate of the EWA World Heavyweight Championship he once owned and a picture slightly crumpled, the edges frayed and tearing. There’s an old fold-line down the middle of the picture where, at one point, he’d tried to erase half of it. He could have burned it with so many other pictures and cards and notes, but he didn’t have the heart to. Something had told him to keep it and, even in his darkest hour, even when he’d tried to remove any semblance of emotion attached to it… to her… he couldn’t. He folded the picture and he kept it and he hoped that, someday, he’d unfold it again and there’d be good reason. He had unfolded it, but the reason was not good. It wasn’t to welcome her back. It was to say goodbye. Beneath it, almost unexpectedly, another piece of paper falls out, opening within his hand. He knows exactly what it is and he knows it was there, but somehow, he’d cast it close to the back of his mind. The list of names. Right at the top, Jada Kaine... 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 The day had been busy. Thirty people had shown up, ten times more than had been expected, but still providing ten times the revenue expected, so all was good in that regard. Shaun and Jurgen had taken charge on that front, getting names and numbers and drawing up contracts and memberships so they could secure a sustainable income for the facility, even if only enough to cover ongoing maintenance. These were things Osbourne should have been doing, should have been overseeing at the very least, but he had other things to attend to, things even closer to home. The extraordinary hustle and bustle in the facility had irritated and aggrieved him, the feeling that what he’d built to be a small and intense pressure cooker for his two students now changing into something entirely different was gnawing at him, another tiny beast joining the feast. The chains were loosening, as he always knew and hoped they would, as a teacher looking to see his students go from strength to strength and achieve the successes they deserve, but he hadn’t foreseen it all beginning so soon and so suddenly, in less than a week the facility he’d only completed months ago had become a commercial training camp, albeit quite exclusive, but it wasn’t how he’d originally intended. It wasn’t quite what he’d wanted… ...but what was anymore? Once upon a time, he’d gone to a bar to drink and to forget the troubles of the road and found himself in a strip bar run by a kindred spirit, of sorts. He hadn’t intended for that to happen. He’d fallen in love with her, married her, become half of the business’s most renowned, respected and feared power coupled, which he had also never originally intended. He’d reached the very pinnacle of the business and then she wanted it and that wedge grew until the tiny cracks became intraversible ravines. He’d definitely not wanted for that to happen, ever, but it did. He didn’t always have power over everything that happened, he didn’t always carry the might to be able to defy the will of The Gods, but he was robust and resilient and smart and strong enough to work out any challenge whether it be by kicking or cunning, resolute enough that he could stoically face down the fury of any storm and allow it to pass, but this? He always knew he’d been in the eye of the storm. He always knew he was just inches away from feeling its fury, that Hurricane Jada was seconds away from ripping everything apart. He thought keeping his head down through the dissolution of their marriage had been akin to feeling the rain on his face and the wind in his hair before making it down into a safe bunker, but the storm had looped back with much more fury on its front. He’d fought her before, but never like he’d fought other people and she knew it. She’d seen him beat people so bloody that their faces were mush beneath his knuckles. She’d seen him grab people’s limbs and torque them until tendons snapped and bones broke. She’d never felt it though, she’d never experienced it and for a woman who had experienced every delight from narcotic to carnal and every manner of heartbreak, the need to just feel that raw physical pain had coursed through her so hot that she seemingly just couldn’t let it go… couldn’t let HIM go until she’d indulged herself, until she knew that the mere samples she’d had before were just that. An aperitif would not make her leave the table when she knew the main course was due… ...and due it is. Beneath the spotlight shining down at his ring, he finds himself motionless. The 200lb grapple dummy staring at him isn’t a dummy. His arms outstretched, hands around its throat, he seethes as he stares into it’s unpainted flesh-coloured eyes and he sees green of emerald hue. The dummy is heavier than her by a good 20-25lbs but the weight makes no difference to him as his thumbs squeeze tighter into the dummy’s throat, choking it, choking the life out of that which does not live and never has. His frustration gets the better of him and he flings it across the ring and into one of the turnbuckles where it remains upright for a moment before face-planting the canvas with a dull thud. It’s not her. Nothing is her but her. Nothing ever can be. Nothing draws his fury and his… Nothing and nobody. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 The thick fur collar of his jacket frames his head, or atleast what’s visible of it with the ensemble of black beanie hat, mirrored aviator sunglasses and thick, long beard hiding most of his countenance. The black coat matches his black adidas track pants and trainers, the dark grey collar matching those one or two stray hairs among the brilliant ginger-orange of his beard like needles in a haystack. Beneath a solitary streetlight, he stares out at the Long Wharf, his eyes cast over the various yachts and cruise ships, long haul liners designed to traverse the Atlantic without so much as a hint of a problem. He envies that, somewhere deep, he wishes he could just jump back across the pond and return to his homeland, but a bigger part of him knows that he’s been away for so long over so many years that he’s close to losing his right to call it his “homeland”. The orange dusk sky silhouettes a handful of clouds as he gazes upward toward them, his chest heavy and visibly so as he draws long, slow breaths. I never wanted things to come to this. I wanted you more than almost anything. I wanted to reign as King with you as my Queen and establish an epic dynasty, the likes of which would and could never be forgotten. I wanted the two of us to stand head and shoulders above everybody else TOGETHER, but you had different ideas. You saw me sat upon my throne and you coveted it. You envied me and what I had and that seed of jealousy spawned into a poisoned rosebush and so became the great thorn in my side. You saw me and heard me acknowledged as the absolute best in the business, the fittest and strongest, the best fighter and the best athlete and you wanted all of that for yourself. You wanted that more than you wanted me. Shaking his head, Osbourne’s nostrils flare as he draws in another deep breath, his jaw clenching for a moment. I get that. More than anybody you know or more than anybody has ever known, I know what it is to want to be at the top. What I don’t get is what you sought that out in spite of me, time and time again until, finally, you found a way. You didn’t have to beat me to take my crown and you didn’t have to take it right from my hands. We put down a demon and I fell in the process, but you took it from him while I burned. Time after time after time, you chose to pursue me and what I had rather than be comfortable and safe and bask in the infinite glow of what WE had. We were King and Queen and you deposed me. Even thereafter, you enjoyed your run at the top and then resumed your pursuit of me when I had and have nothing to offer. I could walk right in and crush Kage or Seton or any of the others jostling for the belt, but now isn’t my time and I can’t offer that to you. All I can offer is pain… and you think you want it… Smirking ever so slightly, he hint of joy in his expression quickly subsides. I slumbered for years. I waged war in WPW, TTW, SHOOT and Unleashed and then, at last, I rested. I thought I was done. I thought we were done, happily settled with more than enough money to see us through into our silver years. Duane came to us and wanted us and I made a demand I thought was so ridiculous that nobody would ever pay it, but he did. The EWA broke open the vault for me, for us, and we were set to rise from comfort and wage war again, together, to dominate as was always intended. You say yourself how you knew and know I came back stronger and readier than ever and so I ask you why you think now is the time to seek out my wrath, to call out for my rage like this. Why, Jada? Looking down to his feet, he kicks at some loose stone and returns his gaze upward at the sky once more. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to fight you - I never did. I made this a loser leaves town match because I thought it’d scare you and you’d back down. I added that it’d be in the same cage that retired Chip Masters because I thought you’d have pangs of doubt and realise just how much and just how badly you could be hurt. I made demands I never thought would be met and, again, I was surprised that they were. The difference is the demands that were met to bring me to the EWA were designed to talk myself into staying at home, in healthy retirement, designed to be so ludicrous that, if anything, I’d be a laughing stock… but I knew inside myself that I wanted to be back. I knew I wanted to fight again and I knew the time was right, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to let go of the routine and the creature comforts. When Duane agreed, I literally felt the chains break and the animal within me was released, unbridled. The demands I made of you were there because I didn't want to fight you. I made them because I thought them too far-fetched, that even your innate burning warrior spirit would question itself. You’ve SEEN what I can do but never fallen victim to it. You’ve competed with me but never fought me. I thought that if I put the stakes so damn high that even Gods would pay attention, you’d be crippled by the gravity of the situation and wilt and fall between the cracks. That, alone, was my mistake. I underestimated your desire, your insane need for this, in large part because I just don’t understand it. You severed a new set of chains, chains designed to protect you and you set yourself in a cage with me. What happens next is YOUR mistake, Jada, and yours alone. He pushes his right fist into his left palm until his knuckles crack, his jaw clenching tightly and his eyes narrowing behind those big mirrored lenses. I wanted you back, you know? I wanted you to come around and apologise and then maybe I’d have some things to apologise for and, slowly, we’d have rebuilt our trust and come back, stronger than before. I wanted that for so, so long… but that ship has sailed. You’ve gone above and beyond us just ending to one of us literally having to be ended and that transcends matters of the heart and becomes a matter of survival. You will not be the one who forces my back to the wall. You will not be the one to rip me down and tear me apart. You are not “the one”. You never were. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 Hey! (hey) I'm your life I'm the one who takes you there Hey! (hey) I'm your life I'm the one who cares They! (they) They betray I'm your only true friend now They! (they) They'll betray I'm forever there 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 |
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10:52 AM Jul 11