Post by Noah Mackenzie on Feb 28, 2014 22:10:21 GMT -5
* Off Camera - Flashback *
He lay on his back, soaked in sweat. The fan turned listlessly overhead, squeaking slightly on every third revolution. He'd counted it, timed it to the second, waiting for it with anticipation and feeling vaguely satisfied when it happened. "I need a drink," he muttered, his gaze falling to the little pyramid of empties on the water-stained table.
"You and me both, Noah Mackenzie." She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the nightlight in the bathroom. Her hair was wild, soaking wet, hanging down and obscuring her face. It was a blessing, because he really didn't want to look at her right now. He tried not to flinch at her use of his full name. Tried and failed. She saw the crease of his brow, and it made her grin.
He stared at the ceiling, cradling the ancient Colt pistol in his hand, absently spinning the cylinder. This wasn't new. The depression was the same. The numbness was the same. The pain, ever a constant. The anger, however, was new. Utterly self-directed. He sat there, staring down at the cold steel, thinking about all that had come and gone. What did he have? In this screwed up world, what did he have to keep him sane? Friends? Family? No. Nothing.
His wrestling career, and his on again off again girlfriend. A new life, perhaps?
Yeah, maybe. But it still pissed him off. His father's gun, a talisman and nothing more, rested on his chest. The one that had ended his life. Perhaps he should have used it on her as well, instead of letting her go that first time. Loose ends had always annoyed him, but now, it was best to let it go. Move on, and pretend none of the sorry mess had happened.
The scent of decay filled his nostrils as he drew in a breath, exhaling slowly. "Maybe that's why I've found myself here? Maybe that's why I want so badly to butt heads with the best of the best again? One last grasp at glory."
She said nothing, returning to the bathroom. A moment later he heard the white noise of the hair dryer.
He hadn't seen this gun in six months, not since he'd locked the door on his disheveled one bedroom apartment and moved back to Dublin. The stained mattress was still on the floor, crusted in spots with dried this and that. He'd paid in advance for a year's worth of rent. Cash, up front. Slumlords loved that. The place made a nice hidey hole, and the rusted fire escape that looked like it was broken, despite the reinforcement he'd installed back in November last year made for a hidden entry and exit.
"Fun facts aside, I'm not really here for the glory," his voice was exhausted as he leaned forward, grabbing the glass of whiskey from glass coffee table before him.
Indulgence.
Wind came in through the open window, rain splashing against his skin, the air movement rustling the papers taped to the walls. At least a thousand carefully drawn portraits graced the walls. Soulful eyes, exposed shoulders, flirty looks. Miranda appeared in each and every one, pieces of her very essence captured in each and every one. He'd drawn them more than a year ago, the paper yellowed and brittle with time. Taking them down would require effort that he wasn't capable of. Not right now.
"It's easy to play God in your head." He mumbled, leaning back against the wall. "Just ask whatever in the hell his name is. Whatever."
Being back here: it was hard, harder than he'd imagined. "I feel like a bullet that's just lodged itself into a wall. BLAM! Ready-set-stop. Sudden impact, flattened and shriveled like a spent member. Can't explain that, least of all to you. Hell, this business changes you. It makes monsters from the meek… it breaks the weak."
Water running inside the closed bathroom drew his attention for a moment, and a ghost of a smile drifted across his lips. He cocked his head in that direction, continuing to speak absently. "Try to explain that to her, and she thinks I'm just playing the character. Oh, Noah… you're so dark and spooky. Screw that, I'm not some brooding gothic wannabe demon boy like the others. I'm being on the level here. When I come home from that ring, I feel like a gladiator, larger than life. I feel energized, but I feel hollow. If I'm not careful, I can break everything- and everyone around me. I told her that people seem too fragile. Too weak. That's not some screwed up ego trip, or some 'roid rage testosterone rant. Just a healthy paradigm shift on my perspective. You spend all day with toned athletes, brick houses who want nothing more than to tear you apart, and it changes you. That's what infuriates me… she doesn't get it. She wants me to hurt her, and I know… I know that one day I won't pull the punch like I'm supposed to. I come home, and I feel like putting my fist through a wall. Walking around on eggshells these days, and I feel like a powder keg. Nitro without a fuse. I want to lock myself in a room, and stay there until I come down, knowing I can't. That's what I want. Silence and solitude…"
He pushed to his feet, looking across the room at the mattress with a disgusted expression. She stepped out of the bathroom, looking like a succubus. Dressed in low cut, clinging red, she was a vision. Breasts on display, hair piled on top of her head so the haphazard waves cascaded down over her shoulders. Hot. He took her hand and pulled her towards the doorway. "C'mon, babe," he urged, his hands on her waist as he pushed towards the door. "We're not staying here…" he stuffed the ancient pistol into the waistband at the back of his pants, letting his leather jacket settle back into place over it. "I'm checking us into the Ritz. Room service. Porn all night. All the bells and whistles for you, baby."
She squealed in delight, throwing herself into his arms. "Seriously? Surf and turf!"
"…the hell is that?" He supported her weight with one arm, carrying her towards the door as she hung from his neck.
"Steak and lobster. It'll be like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Noah… champagne wishes and caviar dreams!"
"Yeah," it was easy to catch her enthusiasm- she'd always been able to do that. Manipulate his mood with her own. "We'll head for Lubbock tomorrow. Take a late flight or something, instead of making the drive."
She looked up at him, studying his expression. "Fly? You sure?"
Noah hated planes. She knew it. "Yeah. Sure. It'll be fine. Easy-peasy."
* On Camera *
The camera opens now to reveal a gold plate which seems to be a part of some championship. As the camera zooms out, the one plate seems to have multiplied exponentially, showing quite a few championships, each of them with the same name plate on them… Noah Mackenzie. As the camera zooms out a little further, the man of the hour is finally in view, standing amongst all of the championships. With a smirk on his face, Noah lets out a faint sigh before he finally speaks.
“This right here before you? This is where I come from. Each of these titles before me represent the same thing from another place. They are each a symbol that proves what I have been saying all along, I am the best in the world, no doubt about it. I’ve got titles from Ireland, Japan, England, America, Brazil, and just about anywhere else you could think of. Now how could I possibly have done this unless I have actually traveled the world and defended the claims I’ve made? When I claim to be the greatest, I back it up.”
Noah allows his words to linger in the air for a moment, smoothing his hair back before he continues on.
“Men like Kenshin would prefer you all to believe otherwise. If he had his way, he’d have you all convinced I am some green as grass rookie looking to make an impact at his expense. The poor bastard couldn’t be further from the truth. Even in his home of Japan, I have climbed between the ropes, dropping everybody they put before me on their head until I held even their most prestigious of championships. A title, which I’m sure once upon a time Kenshin himself dreamed of holding. Hell, for all I know, he chased that dream and grabbed that brass ring, but that is neither here nor there. That was then though, and this… This is the present.”
Noah moves the championships in the front to reveal a holder with no championship, but a nameplate that reads OCW Internet Championship.
“What it’s about now is the Internet Championship that will be up for grabs at Massacre. No matter how much Kenshin may think he has a chance, I’m here to squash that idea. With the stakes as high as they are, I am the cream of the crop without a doubt. Time after time, I lace up my boots, I go out to that ring, and I leave the crowd in awe as I take the pressure and cast it from my shoulders. This week will be no different ladies and gentlemen. While Kenshin will be sitting in his dressing room wondering where he went wrong, I will be standing proudly above the masses with the gold raised high. How exactly does Kenshin plan to stop me? Is just going to toss me over the top rope and hope for the best? That seems to be all he’s good for.”
A few moments pass as Noah’s eyes occasionally move to the display before him.
“Now Kenshin, you asked me with all of my accomplishments, with nothing left to prove in this business, why do I still compete? Well allow me to break it down for you as best as I can. I’m not after the glory, I’m out to prove a point. To claim you are the best means you have faced down every obstacle placed before you and still came out on top. Once upon a time, I had done just that. After hanging up my boots, I sat back and reveled in the fact that nobody in this age or the next would be able to surpass me, and to this day, that fact holds true. However, while watching what this industry has become, I decided it was time to lace them old boots up one more time and step back into the ring to prove to this generation, to men much like yourself Kenshin, that I am STILL the best in the world and anybody who thinks they have what it takes to challenge that needs to reevaluate their life choices.”
Noah moves around the table now, placing the championships in the backdrop as he continues on.
“Men like you Kenshin are a dime a dozen. Honestly, when you break down your talk of honor and respect, it’s nothing more than an attempt to save face for the masses who could honestly care less. Do you truly believe that people pay their money to see us in the ring, just to see if we’re going to shake hands and maybe drink a pint or two afterwards? Of course they don’t. They come to see us beat the holy hell out of each other. The more violent it gets, the louder these mouth breathers cheer. Why do you think that is? Is it because of honor? No. It’s because mankind has a primal desire to conquer, and those who are incapable of doing it themselves cheer for those who can. Men like me rise to the top, not because of respect or some false notion of honor. We do so because when faced with adversity, we grab the proverbial bull by the horns, and drive that son of a bitch face first into the ground. That’s where you’re headed Kenshin. You’re on a fast track to obscurity, compliments of the Messiah of Mayhem.”
Noah pauses now, looking around before the camera zooms in closer to Noah’s face. The disdain in his voice is only matched by the determination in those crystalline green eyes.
“The clock is ticking Kenshin, and you’re time’s almost up. When that bell rings in Lubbock, don’t expect anything short of unbridled intensity to be standing across the ring from you. I claim I’m the best, and to you it’s only words… What are you going to say after Massacre when you leave empty handed? Your words are falling on deaf ears Kenshin, get that through your head. When all the dust settles, all you’re going to have to show for it is some bumps and bruises, wounded pride, and a pair of sore and empty fingers… Let me round this out by saying that the Internet Championship is coming home with me Kenshin, that’s just the way it is. Bring your honor… I’ll be bringing the violence…”
Click.Buzz.Fade.
He lay on his back, soaked in sweat. The fan turned listlessly overhead, squeaking slightly on every third revolution. He'd counted it, timed it to the second, waiting for it with anticipation and feeling vaguely satisfied when it happened. "I need a drink," he muttered, his gaze falling to the little pyramid of empties on the water-stained table.
"You and me both, Noah Mackenzie." She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the nightlight in the bathroom. Her hair was wild, soaking wet, hanging down and obscuring her face. It was a blessing, because he really didn't want to look at her right now. He tried not to flinch at her use of his full name. Tried and failed. She saw the crease of his brow, and it made her grin.
He stared at the ceiling, cradling the ancient Colt pistol in his hand, absently spinning the cylinder. This wasn't new. The depression was the same. The numbness was the same. The pain, ever a constant. The anger, however, was new. Utterly self-directed. He sat there, staring down at the cold steel, thinking about all that had come and gone. What did he have? In this screwed up world, what did he have to keep him sane? Friends? Family? No. Nothing.
His wrestling career, and his on again off again girlfriend. A new life, perhaps?
Yeah, maybe. But it still pissed him off. His father's gun, a talisman and nothing more, rested on his chest. The one that had ended his life. Perhaps he should have used it on her as well, instead of letting her go that first time. Loose ends had always annoyed him, but now, it was best to let it go. Move on, and pretend none of the sorry mess had happened.
The scent of decay filled his nostrils as he drew in a breath, exhaling slowly. "Maybe that's why I've found myself here? Maybe that's why I want so badly to butt heads with the best of the best again? One last grasp at glory."
She said nothing, returning to the bathroom. A moment later he heard the white noise of the hair dryer.
He hadn't seen this gun in six months, not since he'd locked the door on his disheveled one bedroom apartment and moved back to Dublin. The stained mattress was still on the floor, crusted in spots with dried this and that. He'd paid in advance for a year's worth of rent. Cash, up front. Slumlords loved that. The place made a nice hidey hole, and the rusted fire escape that looked like it was broken, despite the reinforcement he'd installed back in November last year made for a hidden entry and exit.
"Fun facts aside, I'm not really here for the glory," his voice was exhausted as he leaned forward, grabbing the glass of whiskey from glass coffee table before him.
Indulgence.
Wind came in through the open window, rain splashing against his skin, the air movement rustling the papers taped to the walls. At least a thousand carefully drawn portraits graced the walls. Soulful eyes, exposed shoulders, flirty looks. Miranda appeared in each and every one, pieces of her very essence captured in each and every one. He'd drawn them more than a year ago, the paper yellowed and brittle with time. Taking them down would require effort that he wasn't capable of. Not right now.
"It's easy to play God in your head." He mumbled, leaning back against the wall. "Just ask whatever in the hell his name is. Whatever."
Being back here: it was hard, harder than he'd imagined. "I feel like a bullet that's just lodged itself into a wall. BLAM! Ready-set-stop. Sudden impact, flattened and shriveled like a spent member. Can't explain that, least of all to you. Hell, this business changes you. It makes monsters from the meek… it breaks the weak."
Water running inside the closed bathroom drew his attention for a moment, and a ghost of a smile drifted across his lips. He cocked his head in that direction, continuing to speak absently. "Try to explain that to her, and she thinks I'm just playing the character. Oh, Noah… you're so dark and spooky. Screw that, I'm not some brooding gothic wannabe demon boy like the others. I'm being on the level here. When I come home from that ring, I feel like a gladiator, larger than life. I feel energized, but I feel hollow. If I'm not careful, I can break everything- and everyone around me. I told her that people seem too fragile. Too weak. That's not some screwed up ego trip, or some 'roid rage testosterone rant. Just a healthy paradigm shift on my perspective. You spend all day with toned athletes, brick houses who want nothing more than to tear you apart, and it changes you. That's what infuriates me… she doesn't get it. She wants me to hurt her, and I know… I know that one day I won't pull the punch like I'm supposed to. I come home, and I feel like putting my fist through a wall. Walking around on eggshells these days, and I feel like a powder keg. Nitro without a fuse. I want to lock myself in a room, and stay there until I come down, knowing I can't. That's what I want. Silence and solitude…"
He pushed to his feet, looking across the room at the mattress with a disgusted expression. She stepped out of the bathroom, looking like a succubus. Dressed in low cut, clinging red, she was a vision. Breasts on display, hair piled on top of her head so the haphazard waves cascaded down over her shoulders. Hot. He took her hand and pulled her towards the doorway. "C'mon, babe," he urged, his hands on her waist as he pushed towards the door. "We're not staying here…" he stuffed the ancient pistol into the waistband at the back of his pants, letting his leather jacket settle back into place over it. "I'm checking us into the Ritz. Room service. Porn all night. All the bells and whistles for you, baby."
She squealed in delight, throwing herself into his arms. "Seriously? Surf and turf!"
"…the hell is that?" He supported her weight with one arm, carrying her towards the door as she hung from his neck.
"Steak and lobster. It'll be like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Noah… champagne wishes and caviar dreams!"
"Yeah," it was easy to catch her enthusiasm- she'd always been able to do that. Manipulate his mood with her own. "We'll head for Lubbock tomorrow. Take a late flight or something, instead of making the drive."
She looked up at him, studying his expression. "Fly? You sure?"
Noah hated planes. She knew it. "Yeah. Sure. It'll be fine. Easy-peasy."
* On Camera *
The camera opens now to reveal a gold plate which seems to be a part of some championship. As the camera zooms out, the one plate seems to have multiplied exponentially, showing quite a few championships, each of them with the same name plate on them… Noah Mackenzie. As the camera zooms out a little further, the man of the hour is finally in view, standing amongst all of the championships. With a smirk on his face, Noah lets out a faint sigh before he finally speaks.
“This right here before you? This is where I come from. Each of these titles before me represent the same thing from another place. They are each a symbol that proves what I have been saying all along, I am the best in the world, no doubt about it. I’ve got titles from Ireland, Japan, England, America, Brazil, and just about anywhere else you could think of. Now how could I possibly have done this unless I have actually traveled the world and defended the claims I’ve made? When I claim to be the greatest, I back it up.”
Noah allows his words to linger in the air for a moment, smoothing his hair back before he continues on.
“Men like Kenshin would prefer you all to believe otherwise. If he had his way, he’d have you all convinced I am some green as grass rookie looking to make an impact at his expense. The poor bastard couldn’t be further from the truth. Even in his home of Japan, I have climbed between the ropes, dropping everybody they put before me on their head until I held even their most prestigious of championships. A title, which I’m sure once upon a time Kenshin himself dreamed of holding. Hell, for all I know, he chased that dream and grabbed that brass ring, but that is neither here nor there. That was then though, and this… This is the present.”
Noah moves the championships in the front to reveal a holder with no championship, but a nameplate that reads OCW Internet Championship.
“What it’s about now is the Internet Championship that will be up for grabs at Massacre. No matter how much Kenshin may think he has a chance, I’m here to squash that idea. With the stakes as high as they are, I am the cream of the crop without a doubt. Time after time, I lace up my boots, I go out to that ring, and I leave the crowd in awe as I take the pressure and cast it from my shoulders. This week will be no different ladies and gentlemen. While Kenshin will be sitting in his dressing room wondering where he went wrong, I will be standing proudly above the masses with the gold raised high. How exactly does Kenshin plan to stop me? Is just going to toss me over the top rope and hope for the best? That seems to be all he’s good for.”
A few moments pass as Noah’s eyes occasionally move to the display before him.
“Now Kenshin, you asked me with all of my accomplishments, with nothing left to prove in this business, why do I still compete? Well allow me to break it down for you as best as I can. I’m not after the glory, I’m out to prove a point. To claim you are the best means you have faced down every obstacle placed before you and still came out on top. Once upon a time, I had done just that. After hanging up my boots, I sat back and reveled in the fact that nobody in this age or the next would be able to surpass me, and to this day, that fact holds true. However, while watching what this industry has become, I decided it was time to lace them old boots up one more time and step back into the ring to prove to this generation, to men much like yourself Kenshin, that I am STILL the best in the world and anybody who thinks they have what it takes to challenge that needs to reevaluate their life choices.”
Noah moves around the table now, placing the championships in the backdrop as he continues on.
“Men like you Kenshin are a dime a dozen. Honestly, when you break down your talk of honor and respect, it’s nothing more than an attempt to save face for the masses who could honestly care less. Do you truly believe that people pay their money to see us in the ring, just to see if we’re going to shake hands and maybe drink a pint or two afterwards? Of course they don’t. They come to see us beat the holy hell out of each other. The more violent it gets, the louder these mouth breathers cheer. Why do you think that is? Is it because of honor? No. It’s because mankind has a primal desire to conquer, and those who are incapable of doing it themselves cheer for those who can. Men like me rise to the top, not because of respect or some false notion of honor. We do so because when faced with adversity, we grab the proverbial bull by the horns, and drive that son of a bitch face first into the ground. That’s where you’re headed Kenshin. You’re on a fast track to obscurity, compliments of the Messiah of Mayhem.”
Noah pauses now, looking around before the camera zooms in closer to Noah’s face. The disdain in his voice is only matched by the determination in those crystalline green eyes.
“The clock is ticking Kenshin, and you’re time’s almost up. When that bell rings in Lubbock, don’t expect anything short of unbridled intensity to be standing across the ring from you. I claim I’m the best, and to you it’s only words… What are you going to say after Massacre when you leave empty handed? Your words are falling on deaf ears Kenshin, get that through your head. When all the dust settles, all you’re going to have to show for it is some bumps and bruises, wounded pride, and a pair of sore and empty fingers… Let me round this out by saying that the Internet Championship is coming home with me Kenshin, that’s just the way it is. Bring your honor… I’ll be bringing the violence…”
Click.Buzz.Fade.
