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Post by Allura Desmonds on Oct 14, 2020 14:26:36 GMT -5
Main Event
Bloody Hardcore Championship Match
Hell in a Cell Match
Sephiroth du Lac (c) vs AJ Flare
RP Limit: 2 Per Person
Deadline: 10/31/20 @11:59pm eastern time
Grace Period: 11/02/20 @11:59pm eastern time
Good Luck |
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Post by Sephiroth du Lac on Nov 1, 2020 21:08:51 GMT -5
Time was in these days there used to be civility. We used to be as Gods to the masses. A modern mythology. A pantheon that others aspired to. What happened to those days? Did they leave us behind or did they outgrow us perhaps? Or maybe... just maybe we outgrew them.
*The camera opens up on the streets of a town though one cannot be sure which. The night is crisp, a hint of cold in the air as the moon casts a brilliant glow matching the bright street lights. It is becoming late but for some still early. It is a nightr few forget for it is Halloween this night, as we see the sight of pumpkins glowing and charming campy decor among the yards. A few of the houses sit with no lights a sign of the lateness of the hour. Most of the Trick or Treaters had already abandoned the block. Slowly we pan to a single home, it's light clearly out. Not a single decoration, not even a pumpkin on the porch. A sign on the door reads simply "Go Away" on it. It is a clear sign that whoever dwells here is not one who celebrates the occasion. Slowly the camera zooms in on the door then fades into an interior shot. Slowly we see the walls painted a simple white intermitten with pictures yet something seems wrong. Several of the pictures seem tilted and broken here. A mark as if claws were dug and gouged into the wall shows that not all is proper here. A baby cries from somewhere in the adjoining rooms and the cross tilted to hang upside downswings haphazardly. At the far end of the hall sits a kitchen it's light clearly out. Nothing seen inside odd save for a pair of feet with high heels still on laying in the floor right in the doorway. Somewhere a phone rings mixing with the cry and all around is the smell of potpurri mixed with blood.*
We think of ourselves as above our peers. Those of us who know what it is to bleed for this life. So many have forgotten us. Such names that even we dared not disrespect. Mr Flare I know this feeling. To feel that we are forgotten. I have felt this with the younger generation. They do not honor tradition. They do not respect the old ways. The true sacrifice their betters laid before them. It sickens sometimes to be paid such respect. I pity you more than you know good sir. Not out of malice but out of reverence for what we both mean to this life of battle we have dedicated ourselves to. For that you have my respect and my condolences.
*The camera rounds the hallway as it peers around a corner to a scene of true horror as a crib sits not five feet from four figures. Three masked individuals dressed in various costumed garb as they stand over a woman hogtied with white ropes. Her mouth covered in silvery duct tape. She cries tears of fear as one of the figures stoops down placing a hand under her chin. He stares at her from behind the mask of a smiling man of white. The creepy mask almost comical as he looks back at the one female figure clad in a simple white dressed stained with tiny splotches of red. Her Pharaoh mask staring down at him.*
Jolly Mask: What do you think, love? Quite a looker here.
*The masked woman bends down looking at the poor tied woman like a piece of meat.*
Pharaoh Mask: I do love her eyes.
*The jolly masked man just grins from behind the mask. If one could see his familiar face from behind the molded plastic one would see a cheshire cat grin creep along it.*
Jolly Mask: Oooo I love it when you get into the spirit. Isn't Long Lankin fun?
*Suddenly the other figure more well dressed then the other two takes him by the shoulder just as the Jolly Masked Man pulls out a long wicked looking kris dagger. A devil mask done in the old 1950's style adorrns his face as he looks to him quietly.*
Devil Mask: Not yet, Sothren. She doesn't even know why we've come. If you kill her now it would be such a waste.
*The figure in the Jolly mask shrugs and moves back waddling like some sort of demented squat duck out of the way as the devil man drops to one knee looking over the womanwith empty soulless eyes.*
But you see I have discovers something. Something which has made my name itched on the hearts of our peers and fans alike. Fear. Fear is what itches my name in the annals of history. Fear of what you may ask? Oh there are so many tools one can use really. Fear of the Dark. Of the unknown. But I find the best fear that inspires my name be remembered is in pain. Pain and Suffering.
*Slowly he brings a gloved hand to her cheek. Brushing it softly as she shrinks back from his touch only for him to suddenly grab her cheek harshly. For a moment he almost examines her erotically tilting her head slightly exposing her neck only to then grip her duct taped gag ripping it off with a quick tug. She cries out a moment only to have the Jolly mask one clap mimickingly and the Pharoahed mask woman fold her arms. But the devil man does nothing just gripping her by the face and bringing a finger to his masks lip. She shudders and calms enough to eek out a single question to him...*
Woman: Why? Why are you doing this?
*The devil man tilts his masked face quizzically*
Devil Mask: Why? My dear lady, you dare ask why? You do not light the candle for the dead and so the dead came to you this night. You do not honor the old ways on this our most hallowed night. You see death it cares not for age. It cares not for beauty. It cares not who your husband is. Or how much money is in your account. Death comes for us all. That phone ringing in the distance. It is him isn't it? Your husband. How does it feel knowing his voice is so close to you? That he will never hear your final breath? That you'll never say good-bye? That because you did not carve a pumpkin, a cheap five dollar gourd he will never know how much you suffered. You ask us why? The answer is simple. Because you were home. Because we could. Because no matter how much you think you have death is the great equilizer that unites us all one day. We've each met death before. He is our close personal friend... and now we shall introduce him to you and your sweet family.
Woman: No... no please... he's just a bab...
*Her cries are cut off as the Devil man places the duct tape back on and stands as the jolly masked man rolls forward sitting in a indian position before her dagger at the ready.*
Jolly Mask: Right, Brother, back to the fun. What did you want again, Cleo? The eyes?
Pharaoh Mask: Yes, lovey. They are so bright. I think I'll take care of the baby.
*She says softly pulling out a long hat pin sharpened hard at the edge already stained with blood as the cries continue from the crib. As the two figures move to the appointed task the devil masked man stares first at the phone then to the record player which sits nearby.*
See pain is a great teacher. A great motivator. And when pain is amplified and one watches another suffer. Then they remember. They remember why they cower in the dark. Why they sit around campfires and lanterns and whisper. They recall the suffering they saw. It's not just about entertaining them. It's about making them afraid to look away and yet afraid to look. Where they are in that strange limbo. Like watching a car accident or a train derail. Afraid to miss a moment of the suffering of others. To that end I shall help you, my friend. To that end I will have them remember you. They will hear your name and recall the moment they saw me bring you to the point of ultimate sorrow. That point of suffering reserved for the enemies of God. A truer hell that only man can inflict upon man. That is what I shall do for you. And then only then will you reclaim your lost glory.
*The gloved hands pull out a single old record with "Long Lankin" written on the front placing it upon the record player letting the low hiss of the player resound as delicately he picks up the phone putting it delicately to his ear.*
Mans voice on the phone: Hello? Honey? Is the baby crying? Honey? Honey answer me! Honey!
*He says nothing simply laying the phone down by the record players speaker. Letting the listener hear the sounds of the music mixed with the stabbing sound of a babies cry and a woman's muffled screams as slowly he removes the mask and lays it by the phone as with an evil smirk Sephiroth du Lac simply walks away. As the scene fades to black.*
Happy Halloween, Mr. Flare. Enjoy your suffering. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
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