Post by distortia on Mar 7, 2014 19:30:29 GMT -5
=/= Grey clouds loom over California, away from all the beaches where the bronzed masses parade about, away from the overwhelming scent of pretentiousness, unwarranted raises and needless shopping sprees.
Away from beauty is judged on the silicon to flesh ratio and how many designer labels can be worn with minimal clothing.
Amid the abandoned buildings of Fort Ord Military Base- Amber Ryan leans against the metallic jade paint of her prized ‘70 Chevy Chevelle SS 454, half a cigarette smouldering between her fingers as Stainds ‘Break The Cycle’ album drifts out from the open car windows.
She stares idly, her focus barely lingering on anything for more than a couple seconds before tossing the glowing cigarette into the dirt before crushing it beneath one of her black converses. =/=
“He’s probably not gonna show”
=/= A small sing song voice pipes up beside her- a slight teenage female figure, raven hair braided part of the way down her back. Green eyes, almost cat like highlighting her mischievous smile. =/=
“He’ll show”
=/= The teenage girl shrugs, giving the ‘teenagers obviously know everything’ roll of the eyes. Amber pays no attention however, trusting instead in her gut feeling that pride will win out over stubborn dislike.
A distant rumbling seems to confirm her thoughts as a cloud of dust grows steadily larger, the dark shape of a black ’65 Ford Shelby roars down the dirt road as tiny stones flick in every direction. =/=
“Told you so, Beck”
“So you’re right, like once”
“Like always”
=/= Becky pokes her tongue out at Amber as the car rumbles closer, seemingly disappearing out of sight as the cloud of fine dust engulfs everything in its way. Behind tinted windows, the driver shuts the machine down and flicks a burning cigarette butt out of the window.
Amber coughs as the dust settles, “The Ripper” Danny B emerges from the car dressed, much to the amusement of Amber, in an old school military attire, complete with heavy duty boots and faux medals. =/=
“What in the name of all that is decent are you wearing?”
“I thought I might embrace the location, besides I paid a pretty penny for this and I’m going to get my monies worth”
“A pretty penny? I think you might have overpaid in that respect.”
“Do I sense a tone of jealousy, Amber?”
“No, you sense a tone of ‘you look utterly ridiculous’”
=/= As Danny moves around to the trunk, Amber idly braids her thick crimson locks. A deafening slam serves as notice to get her attention, she turns her attention back to Danny only to find him fiddling about with appears to be an antique rifle.
Pointing it in her direction, he checks the sights as she makes a point of moving out of the way. =/=
“Is that real?”
“Would you like to find out”
“That would depend on if you’re going to keep pointing it at me”
=/=Danny smirks, continuing to point the rifle in Ambers direction if only just to piss her off. She chooses to ignore him, instead inspecting the washed out, battered weatherboards of the warehouse. Her fingers tracing the cracks that run like tiny tracks across the dusty surface. =/=
“Are you done playing with toys?”
=/= Ambers mocking tone garners little reaction from Danny who casually rests the rifle on his shoulder. =/=
“After you, my dear”
=/= Amber turns her attention away from the cracked weatherboards, towards the door standing only an arm’s length away. As the door hangs on its rusted hinges, corroded beyond possible repair- she lingers for a brief moment only to be shunted aside by Danny, clutching at the weatherboards as she stumbles just managing to awkwardly catch herself before hitting the ground.
Danny in the meantime takes it upon himself to put those heavy military boots to some good use, striking the door with unnecessary force and sending it careening back into the warehouse. Amber takes a moment to brush off the fine layer of dust as Danny wanders inside the warehouse, staring daggers into the back of his head before following after him. =/=
“… Asshole”
=/= Her murmur goes unnoticed as she searches for a light switch of sorts, Danny beats her to it though as the industrial lights above slowly flicker to life.
Thick dust caking the dull concrete parts like the red sea as footsteps create harsh echoes, walls mercilessly graphitized in every colour known to man ranging from declarations of undying love and announcements of who ‘waz ere’ when to artworks reminiscent of a 2 week LSD bender.
Metal shelving stands tall yet rusted, no longer carrying anything more essential than the occasional birds nest. Debris litters the floor, torn cardboard strewn about like packaging on Christmas morning mingles with shards of glass from high up panes, broken by stones carelessly tossed for the amusement of the dim-witted.
A cool breeze swirls through the space, whistling a tune all its own as Danny disappears through a door across the warehouse- a statement made with the clang of metal.
Meanwhile Amber finds a space on the floor clear of the decay, slowly lowering herself onto the cool, dusty concrete until comfortably seated with her legs tucked to one side.
Silence reigns for a few moments as she gazes about the area, eyes lingering on openings near the ceiling where nature has forced its way through. =/=
“Maybe it’s just me… But there is something about places like this that are just, I don’t know… Peaceful, I guess would be the right word.
Abandoned by greater society when its usefulness had run its course.”
=/= Another few moments of silence pass as she sighs, taking in the surrounding degeneration. =/=
“Imagine this place in its prime, bustling with activity as the place readies itself for combat that it was never really invited to. Designed for the sole purpose of war mongering.
Now look at it, discarded like trash as soon as the paper pusher decide they don’t need it anymore, resigning it to rot until someone decides to knock it down and build a shopping mall for delinquents to ravage.
However, I see it differently.
This is its prime, this is the best it will ever be again and every moment it stands, that prime becomes less and less, its best is just not good enough anymore despite it being all that it possibly can.
Slow decay, a drawn-out downward spiral that cannot be stopped.”
=/= Dust floating in the air causes Amber to sneeze, quickly recoiling as she shakes out the cobwebs. =/=
“Is there a sense of familiarity in my words? Perhaps a sudden sense of realization… ‘The Great One’, TGO, Trevor, He-Man- Master Of His Own Lunchbox. Whatever it is you call yourself these days…
You return to OCW like it’s some sort of triumphant moment, waiting for everyone to simply bow down and kiss your athletes foot, as though you still have some bearing over the company- oh, but of course… You have the TV rights.
Congratulations, instead of being a normal pompous asshole- you’ve been promoted to corporate asshole.
You walk in still believing you set this world alight but really, your spark died a long time ago. Now you’re just rubbing sticks together hoping for a wisp of smoke.
Maybe you are still in your prime, but that prime is just like this warehouse… It doesn’t matter how good you still may think you are- it will never be good enough to make anyone give a damn.
You can’t fight the downward spiral, as slow and agonizing as it may be. Every second that passes you by is laughing in your face and there isn’t anything you can do about it.
Maybe if I wait 2 weeks, just like ‘The End’ in Metal Gear Solid 3, you’ll keel over and save us all the trouble...”
=/= Amber smiles, pleased with her reference despite the fact it is a little bit dated. =/=
“Great. Better than good, not quite wonderful and far from amazing and nowhere near incredible. So very middle of the road, so very forgettable.
Great is what a rich boss says to one of the hundreds worker ants when in fact they just don’t give a shit. Great is what a teacher says to try boost the confidence of a clearly underperforming child. Great is what a parent says to their child when they don’t have the heart to tell them that whatever they’re doing just isn’t good enough.
Yet that’s the way you choose to define yourself- you stand by your proclamation that you’re only middle of the road in an industry where ‘middle of the road’ fades into obscurity.
This is a generation where its normal to proclaim yourself as 10 times better than what you are- only to be exposed as average. So where does that leave a man who considers himself ‘great’? If calling yourself ‘first class’ really translates into ‘second rate’ than what about the lowly bastard stuck back in economy?
Guess that makes him stuck back with the rest of the dead weight.
This is an era where the adjective makes the man, if you can’t use a thesaurus to define yourself then you simply fall behind. Incredible, amazing, fantastic, marvellous, excellent, majestic.
Why would you want to be any of those when you can just be ‘great’? Maybe because you understand that eventually everyone’s true nature comes to the surface and you’d rather be known as ‘ordinary’ than be exposed as a ‘fake’.”
=/= Pins and needles creep through her feet as she sits, the sensation of weight pulling her legs down despite there being nothing in sight. Idly she rubs her leg to try to regain some normal feeling. =/=
“Although I’m sure some will state, including yourself that you had a truly glorious return, definitively winning your first match up back… Against a guy who can barely string two words together without drooling incessantly and creepily staring from a rocking chair, a guy who can barely beat himself off let alone beat anyone else… Congratulations- you beat up a total retard.
Someone gives this man a title shot already.
Have you already got your victory speech written? Some big parade planned in your dubious honour?
I for one hope so, only so I can see the miserable look on your face when you realize that instead of the cake walk you’d imagined- you’re staring up at the rafters wondering why you bothered to return… Oh the shock and horror!
Instead of cementing your legacy like you’d dreamed, you’re just driving whatever reputation you had further into the ground. It’s just a matter of time until you join it.”
=/= Lights flicker unsteadily overhead, years of disuse rendering them as useful as candles in a cyclone. Amber scrambles to her feet as the lights begin to lose power. =/=
“Who knows, ‘TGO’, maybe after this week you’ll be thanking us for proving that you’re just not as ‘great’ as you once were…”
=/= With no sense of urgency, she makes her way towards a different exit across the room. Before she makes the door- the lights finally give out, plunging the warehouse into near darkness with the only light streaming through holes near the ceiling.
Feeling about in the dark, she manages to find the doorway and with a firm shove she manages to pry the door open enough to slip through the gap and back out into the overcast weather.
The sky seemed to have darkened considerably, thick grey clouds more on the side of menacing than fluffy. A storm biding its time before unleashing its force upon those deemed unclean, she watches as the sky churns above before her attention is broken by a bang, the type that can only be described as a gunshot.
Her head snaps around, close enough to the speed of sound that it makes her mildly dizzy, Amber spies Danny lowering the rifle, his aim still a few feet to the side of her but close enough to make her feel uncomfortable. =/=
“What the actual fuck, Danny”
“Don’t you be worrying you’re pretty head- if I wanted to hit you, I would have.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I still need you to win this lottery tournament thing- afterwards we can find out how good of a shot I really am.”
=/= Amber chooses not to dignify that with a response, instead making her way by the parked cars and towards the chapel. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Danny lining her up mockingly, finger hovering over the trigger- reaching the solid wooden door of the chapel, Amber flips Danny the bird before disappearing inside, another shot ringing out across the base.
Unlike many other places where religion reigns, this chapel remains simple. No stained glass windows, only plain glass yellowed and dusty with age and some imploded by stones or weather as their shards are cast across the timber floor.
A chill hangs in the air as the high roof gives the space a certain echoing quality, ethereal and disconcerting in equal measures. Only chunks of timber remain where the pews were seemingly ripped from the floor, splinters mingling with glass shards along the grimy floor.
Even the alter stands in ruin, once a place for those to indulge their belief some form of higher power now stands only as a stark reminder of the abandonment of this place. =/=
“Messiah of Mayhem. Noah, did you even know what a ‘messiah’ was before you chose the name? Do you even know to this day?
Did you choose the name because you felt as though it had a profound meaning to you or simply because it sounded ‘cool’.
Perhaps in this forsaken house of god I should educate- a messiah is regarded as a leader, a saviour to the masses that believe… So what does that make you exactly?
Are you saving us all from mayhem- or perhaps saving us from the monotony that comes with order…
Or maybe you’re saving us by making an example of just why you shouldn’t go to the hairdressers after downing a full bottle of jagermeister.
Of course who am I to question you, oh hall of famer… I’m just a thundercunt, right?”
=/= Amber snickers, lightly kicking a chunk of wood and sending it spinning across the floor. =/=
“Perhaps I should watch my language in this house of god, it’s not like I’m already going to hell or anything. Oh wait, scratch that.
I must admit, its always nice to know peoples true opinion. None of this mutual respect stuff, we should all be more like you and just say what we really think…
Never mind this ‘thinking before speaking’, just gets in the way of honesty.
Although such an ‘esteemed’ persons such as your good self, I would have expected you’d show a little more respect instead of just branding me another hot piece of ass to be ogled and groped… Go on, I dare you to fucking try.”
=/= Her sarcastic tone quickly changes to a hiss as the last words tumble from her mouth, her eyes betraying the fire that lies beneath albeit briefly. =/=
“Dismiss me as you may, it’s your mistake to make. I’m not going to stand here and try to convince you that I’m more of a threat than you would like to believe.
You have your mind made up, now it’s just up to me to beat it out of you…
Never mind that I’m not just another ‘wet behind the ears’ walking tits and ass, never mind that I’m just as accomplished as anyone on this roster if not more so than most and definitely never mind the fact that I have earned my way into being a hall of famer instead of simply being handed a plaque cause I stuck around long enough for them to pity induct me.”
=/= Silence overcomes the chapel, as she inspects the chipped white stone walls before turning her attention back to the desecrated remains of the chapel interior. =/=
“Write god backwards, it becomes dog- a female dog is a bitch. When you call me a bitch- it really means you’re also calling me an anti-god and any way you wanna slice it, it means that I outrank you. Checkmate.
Saviour of havoc, liberator of anarchy, champion of chaos- doesn’t matter what you call yourself- at the end of the day, you’re all the same when you’re lying flat on your back wondering where it all went so wrong.
You can call me a slut, a bitch, a thundercunt but you know what… It still makes me better than you.”
=/= Amber chuckles to herself as she makes her way back to the chapel entrance, the door still sitting ajar despite the rising wind outside.
Stepping out, a light drizzle of rain fills the air and no sign of her tag team partner despite his Shelby still being parked behind her Chevy. Leaning on the metallic jade paint, she considers lighting up a cigarette but in the end decides against it due to the rising weather. =/=
“I don’t trust him”
=/= That sing song voice rings out again, soft yet clear. Amber never tends to see Becky coming, she’s just always there with those cat like eyes filled with an almost innocent sparkle. =/=
“Neither do I”
“So why are you teaming with him”
“Chance to kill two birds with one stone”
“I don’t like it, I just don’t”
“You don't have to but right now, it’s the lesser of two evils”
“Lesser? I don’t think you’ve thought about this enough”
“I’ve thought about it enough”
=/= Amber ignores the incredulous stare from the teenager, instead rubbing a smudge off the car that may or may not be there. =/=
“How can you believe he’s gonna hold up his end of things?”
=/= Becky tips her head in the direction of Ambers approaching tag team partner, still wearing his ridiculous military outfit and the rifle cradled in his arm. =/=
“Honestly? I cant… All I can do is take him at his word”
“His word? You’ve said yourself his word means nothing!”
“His stubborn pride outweighs his instincts any day of the week”
“I hope you’re right”
“So do I”
=/= Danny’s face is plastered with his usual smirk as he closes in, Amber watches him saunter in warily. =/=
“Hey Amber, why don’t you ditch that piece of junk behind and come ride with me”
=/= Danny gives Amber a cheeky wink as he looks over her car, she returns it with a mildly disgusted sneer. =/=
“Fuck off Danny”
=/= With that, she slides into the driver’s seat of the Chevy, firing up the engine and kicking up a cloud of dust onto Danny’s Shelby, much to his chagrin, before chucking a U-turn and racing out back down the dirt road.
Leaving Danny standing by his car, still with a cheeky smirk on his face. =/=
Away from beauty is judged on the silicon to flesh ratio and how many designer labels can be worn with minimal clothing.
Amid the abandoned buildings of Fort Ord Military Base- Amber Ryan leans against the metallic jade paint of her prized ‘70 Chevy Chevelle SS 454, half a cigarette smouldering between her fingers as Stainds ‘Break The Cycle’ album drifts out from the open car windows.
She stares idly, her focus barely lingering on anything for more than a couple seconds before tossing the glowing cigarette into the dirt before crushing it beneath one of her black converses. =/=
“He’s probably not gonna show”
=/= A small sing song voice pipes up beside her- a slight teenage female figure, raven hair braided part of the way down her back. Green eyes, almost cat like highlighting her mischievous smile. =/=
“He’ll show”
=/= The teenage girl shrugs, giving the ‘teenagers obviously know everything’ roll of the eyes. Amber pays no attention however, trusting instead in her gut feeling that pride will win out over stubborn dislike.
A distant rumbling seems to confirm her thoughts as a cloud of dust grows steadily larger, the dark shape of a black ’65 Ford Shelby roars down the dirt road as tiny stones flick in every direction. =/=
“Told you so, Beck”
“So you’re right, like once”
“Like always”
=/= Becky pokes her tongue out at Amber as the car rumbles closer, seemingly disappearing out of sight as the cloud of fine dust engulfs everything in its way. Behind tinted windows, the driver shuts the machine down and flicks a burning cigarette butt out of the window.
Amber coughs as the dust settles, “The Ripper” Danny B emerges from the car dressed, much to the amusement of Amber, in an old school military attire, complete with heavy duty boots and faux medals. =/=
“What in the name of all that is decent are you wearing?”
“I thought I might embrace the location, besides I paid a pretty penny for this and I’m going to get my monies worth”
“A pretty penny? I think you might have overpaid in that respect.”
“Do I sense a tone of jealousy, Amber?”
“No, you sense a tone of ‘you look utterly ridiculous’”
=/= As Danny moves around to the trunk, Amber idly braids her thick crimson locks. A deafening slam serves as notice to get her attention, she turns her attention back to Danny only to find him fiddling about with appears to be an antique rifle.
Pointing it in her direction, he checks the sights as she makes a point of moving out of the way. =/=
“Is that real?”
“Would you like to find out”
“That would depend on if you’re going to keep pointing it at me”
=/=Danny smirks, continuing to point the rifle in Ambers direction if only just to piss her off. She chooses to ignore him, instead inspecting the washed out, battered weatherboards of the warehouse. Her fingers tracing the cracks that run like tiny tracks across the dusty surface. =/=
“Are you done playing with toys?”
=/= Ambers mocking tone garners little reaction from Danny who casually rests the rifle on his shoulder. =/=
“After you, my dear”
=/= Amber turns her attention away from the cracked weatherboards, towards the door standing only an arm’s length away. As the door hangs on its rusted hinges, corroded beyond possible repair- she lingers for a brief moment only to be shunted aside by Danny, clutching at the weatherboards as she stumbles just managing to awkwardly catch herself before hitting the ground.
Danny in the meantime takes it upon himself to put those heavy military boots to some good use, striking the door with unnecessary force and sending it careening back into the warehouse. Amber takes a moment to brush off the fine layer of dust as Danny wanders inside the warehouse, staring daggers into the back of his head before following after him. =/=
“… Asshole”
=/= Her murmur goes unnoticed as she searches for a light switch of sorts, Danny beats her to it though as the industrial lights above slowly flicker to life.
Thick dust caking the dull concrete parts like the red sea as footsteps create harsh echoes, walls mercilessly graphitized in every colour known to man ranging from declarations of undying love and announcements of who ‘waz ere’ when to artworks reminiscent of a 2 week LSD bender.
Metal shelving stands tall yet rusted, no longer carrying anything more essential than the occasional birds nest. Debris litters the floor, torn cardboard strewn about like packaging on Christmas morning mingles with shards of glass from high up panes, broken by stones carelessly tossed for the amusement of the dim-witted.
A cool breeze swirls through the space, whistling a tune all its own as Danny disappears through a door across the warehouse- a statement made with the clang of metal.
Meanwhile Amber finds a space on the floor clear of the decay, slowly lowering herself onto the cool, dusty concrete until comfortably seated with her legs tucked to one side.
Silence reigns for a few moments as she gazes about the area, eyes lingering on openings near the ceiling where nature has forced its way through. =/=
“Maybe it’s just me… But there is something about places like this that are just, I don’t know… Peaceful, I guess would be the right word.
Abandoned by greater society when its usefulness had run its course.”
=/= Another few moments of silence pass as she sighs, taking in the surrounding degeneration. =/=
“Imagine this place in its prime, bustling with activity as the place readies itself for combat that it was never really invited to. Designed for the sole purpose of war mongering.
Now look at it, discarded like trash as soon as the paper pusher decide they don’t need it anymore, resigning it to rot until someone decides to knock it down and build a shopping mall for delinquents to ravage.
However, I see it differently.
This is its prime, this is the best it will ever be again and every moment it stands, that prime becomes less and less, its best is just not good enough anymore despite it being all that it possibly can.
Slow decay, a drawn-out downward spiral that cannot be stopped.”
=/= Dust floating in the air causes Amber to sneeze, quickly recoiling as she shakes out the cobwebs. =/=
“Is there a sense of familiarity in my words? Perhaps a sudden sense of realization… ‘The Great One’, TGO, Trevor, He-Man- Master Of His Own Lunchbox. Whatever it is you call yourself these days…
You return to OCW like it’s some sort of triumphant moment, waiting for everyone to simply bow down and kiss your athletes foot, as though you still have some bearing over the company- oh, but of course… You have the TV rights.
Congratulations, instead of being a normal pompous asshole- you’ve been promoted to corporate asshole.
You walk in still believing you set this world alight but really, your spark died a long time ago. Now you’re just rubbing sticks together hoping for a wisp of smoke.
Maybe you are still in your prime, but that prime is just like this warehouse… It doesn’t matter how good you still may think you are- it will never be good enough to make anyone give a damn.
You can’t fight the downward spiral, as slow and agonizing as it may be. Every second that passes you by is laughing in your face and there isn’t anything you can do about it.
Maybe if I wait 2 weeks, just like ‘The End’ in Metal Gear Solid 3, you’ll keel over and save us all the trouble...”
=/= Amber smiles, pleased with her reference despite the fact it is a little bit dated. =/=
“Great. Better than good, not quite wonderful and far from amazing and nowhere near incredible. So very middle of the road, so very forgettable.
Great is what a rich boss says to one of the hundreds worker ants when in fact they just don’t give a shit. Great is what a teacher says to try boost the confidence of a clearly underperforming child. Great is what a parent says to their child when they don’t have the heart to tell them that whatever they’re doing just isn’t good enough.
Yet that’s the way you choose to define yourself- you stand by your proclamation that you’re only middle of the road in an industry where ‘middle of the road’ fades into obscurity.
This is a generation where its normal to proclaim yourself as 10 times better than what you are- only to be exposed as average. So where does that leave a man who considers himself ‘great’? If calling yourself ‘first class’ really translates into ‘second rate’ than what about the lowly bastard stuck back in economy?
Guess that makes him stuck back with the rest of the dead weight.
This is an era where the adjective makes the man, if you can’t use a thesaurus to define yourself then you simply fall behind. Incredible, amazing, fantastic, marvellous, excellent, majestic.
Why would you want to be any of those when you can just be ‘great’? Maybe because you understand that eventually everyone’s true nature comes to the surface and you’d rather be known as ‘ordinary’ than be exposed as a ‘fake’.”
=/= Pins and needles creep through her feet as she sits, the sensation of weight pulling her legs down despite there being nothing in sight. Idly she rubs her leg to try to regain some normal feeling. =/=
“Although I’m sure some will state, including yourself that you had a truly glorious return, definitively winning your first match up back… Against a guy who can barely string two words together without drooling incessantly and creepily staring from a rocking chair, a guy who can barely beat himself off let alone beat anyone else… Congratulations- you beat up a total retard.
Someone gives this man a title shot already.
Have you already got your victory speech written? Some big parade planned in your dubious honour?
I for one hope so, only so I can see the miserable look on your face when you realize that instead of the cake walk you’d imagined- you’re staring up at the rafters wondering why you bothered to return… Oh the shock and horror!
Instead of cementing your legacy like you’d dreamed, you’re just driving whatever reputation you had further into the ground. It’s just a matter of time until you join it.”
=/= Lights flicker unsteadily overhead, years of disuse rendering them as useful as candles in a cyclone. Amber scrambles to her feet as the lights begin to lose power. =/=
“Who knows, ‘TGO’, maybe after this week you’ll be thanking us for proving that you’re just not as ‘great’ as you once were…”
=/= With no sense of urgency, she makes her way towards a different exit across the room. Before she makes the door- the lights finally give out, plunging the warehouse into near darkness with the only light streaming through holes near the ceiling.
Feeling about in the dark, she manages to find the doorway and with a firm shove she manages to pry the door open enough to slip through the gap and back out into the overcast weather.
The sky seemed to have darkened considerably, thick grey clouds more on the side of menacing than fluffy. A storm biding its time before unleashing its force upon those deemed unclean, she watches as the sky churns above before her attention is broken by a bang, the type that can only be described as a gunshot.
Her head snaps around, close enough to the speed of sound that it makes her mildly dizzy, Amber spies Danny lowering the rifle, his aim still a few feet to the side of her but close enough to make her feel uncomfortable. =/=
“What the actual fuck, Danny”
“Don’t you be worrying you’re pretty head- if I wanted to hit you, I would have.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I still need you to win this lottery tournament thing- afterwards we can find out how good of a shot I really am.”
=/= Amber chooses not to dignify that with a response, instead making her way by the parked cars and towards the chapel. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Danny lining her up mockingly, finger hovering over the trigger- reaching the solid wooden door of the chapel, Amber flips Danny the bird before disappearing inside, another shot ringing out across the base.
Unlike many other places where religion reigns, this chapel remains simple. No stained glass windows, only plain glass yellowed and dusty with age and some imploded by stones or weather as their shards are cast across the timber floor.
A chill hangs in the air as the high roof gives the space a certain echoing quality, ethereal and disconcerting in equal measures. Only chunks of timber remain where the pews were seemingly ripped from the floor, splinters mingling with glass shards along the grimy floor.
Even the alter stands in ruin, once a place for those to indulge their belief some form of higher power now stands only as a stark reminder of the abandonment of this place. =/=
“Messiah of Mayhem. Noah, did you even know what a ‘messiah’ was before you chose the name? Do you even know to this day?
Did you choose the name because you felt as though it had a profound meaning to you or simply because it sounded ‘cool’.
Perhaps in this forsaken house of god I should educate- a messiah is regarded as a leader, a saviour to the masses that believe… So what does that make you exactly?
Are you saving us all from mayhem- or perhaps saving us from the monotony that comes with order…
Or maybe you’re saving us by making an example of just why you shouldn’t go to the hairdressers after downing a full bottle of jagermeister.
Of course who am I to question you, oh hall of famer… I’m just a thundercunt, right?”
=/= Amber snickers, lightly kicking a chunk of wood and sending it spinning across the floor. =/=
“Perhaps I should watch my language in this house of god, it’s not like I’m already going to hell or anything. Oh wait, scratch that.
I must admit, its always nice to know peoples true opinion. None of this mutual respect stuff, we should all be more like you and just say what we really think…
Never mind this ‘thinking before speaking’, just gets in the way of honesty.
Although such an ‘esteemed’ persons such as your good self, I would have expected you’d show a little more respect instead of just branding me another hot piece of ass to be ogled and groped… Go on, I dare you to fucking try.”
=/= Her sarcastic tone quickly changes to a hiss as the last words tumble from her mouth, her eyes betraying the fire that lies beneath albeit briefly. =/=
“Dismiss me as you may, it’s your mistake to make. I’m not going to stand here and try to convince you that I’m more of a threat than you would like to believe.
You have your mind made up, now it’s just up to me to beat it out of you…
Never mind that I’m not just another ‘wet behind the ears’ walking tits and ass, never mind that I’m just as accomplished as anyone on this roster if not more so than most and definitely never mind the fact that I have earned my way into being a hall of famer instead of simply being handed a plaque cause I stuck around long enough for them to pity induct me.”
=/= Silence overcomes the chapel, as she inspects the chipped white stone walls before turning her attention back to the desecrated remains of the chapel interior. =/=
“Write god backwards, it becomes dog- a female dog is a bitch. When you call me a bitch- it really means you’re also calling me an anti-god and any way you wanna slice it, it means that I outrank you. Checkmate.
Saviour of havoc, liberator of anarchy, champion of chaos- doesn’t matter what you call yourself- at the end of the day, you’re all the same when you’re lying flat on your back wondering where it all went so wrong.
You can call me a slut, a bitch, a thundercunt but you know what… It still makes me better than you.”
=/= Amber chuckles to herself as she makes her way back to the chapel entrance, the door still sitting ajar despite the rising wind outside.
Stepping out, a light drizzle of rain fills the air and no sign of her tag team partner despite his Shelby still being parked behind her Chevy. Leaning on the metallic jade paint, she considers lighting up a cigarette but in the end decides against it due to the rising weather. =/=
“I don’t trust him”
=/= That sing song voice rings out again, soft yet clear. Amber never tends to see Becky coming, she’s just always there with those cat like eyes filled with an almost innocent sparkle. =/=
“Neither do I”
“So why are you teaming with him”
“Chance to kill two birds with one stone”
“I don’t like it, I just don’t”
“You don't have to but right now, it’s the lesser of two evils”
“Lesser? I don’t think you’ve thought about this enough”
“I’ve thought about it enough”
=/= Amber ignores the incredulous stare from the teenager, instead rubbing a smudge off the car that may or may not be there. =/=
“How can you believe he’s gonna hold up his end of things?”
=/= Becky tips her head in the direction of Ambers approaching tag team partner, still wearing his ridiculous military outfit and the rifle cradled in his arm. =/=
“Honestly? I cant… All I can do is take him at his word”
“His word? You’ve said yourself his word means nothing!”
“His stubborn pride outweighs his instincts any day of the week”
“I hope you’re right”
“So do I”
=/= Danny’s face is plastered with his usual smirk as he closes in, Amber watches him saunter in warily. =/=
“Hey Amber, why don’t you ditch that piece of junk behind and come ride with me”
=/= Danny gives Amber a cheeky wink as he looks over her car, she returns it with a mildly disgusted sneer. =/=
“Fuck off Danny”
=/= With that, she slides into the driver’s seat of the Chevy, firing up the engine and kicking up a cloud of dust onto Danny’s Shelby, much to his chagrin, before chucking a U-turn and racing out back down the dirt road.
Leaving Danny standing by his car, still with a cheeky smirk on his face. =/=
