Post by MorningStar on Feb 12, 2007 18:47:43 GMT -5
A loud, wheezing cough, quickly followed by several others. Leaning forward on his leather sofa, the best cameraman in the game – Eddie “The Lens” Sullivan – hawks a globule of phlegm from his throat and expectorates out of the window of the bus. Grinning sheepishly at the people around him, he sinks back into the soft leather, once again taking in the opulent surroundings. The tour bus in which they’re sat is paneled with the finest oak, the carpets a thick and plush terracotta. A 32 inch plasma TV is set into the wall, and a brand new Xbox 360 is sprawled on the floor before it, games scattered on the carpet around it. Grinning at the luxury, The Lens grinds his shoeless feet into the carpet, praying that no one notices the hole in the big toe of his sock.
<|?|> Voice <|?|>
You need to give up smoking, old boy.
As one, the entire road crew; The Lens and new guy Joe “The Mic” Richards – commissioned by XVI to replace Duncan Holloway after a bar room incident with a pool cue - turn to the doorway leading to the bedroom, to see The MorningStar stood there, wiping his hands on a towel. Not yet wearing his ring gear, he still radiates an aura of power, though clad in just a pair of jeans and an Atticus Black shirt. With an exaggerated groan, Mental lowers himself onto one of the deep sofas.
:: The Lens ::
Getting old, Johnny?
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Come on lens, if I’m old then you’re ancient… that rug you’re wearing proves it!
The Lens splutters whilst the other men chuckle – age jokes never sat well with our disgruntled Irish cameraman. Johnny Mental, one half of the infamous Nightbreed, gives him a broad grin and raises his hands in supplication, hoping to avoid a war of insults here… which suits The Lens fine. Whilst Johnny’s easy going manner and friendly jibing have returned, the seeds of doubt are all too firmly planet in the back of his mind.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Ok Lens, Ok, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, Steve will be along soon, then we’ll be ready to roll. Fancy a quick bash on the Xbox?
<|?|> The Pheonix <|?|>
No time for that, eh Mate? C’mon, we’ve got work to do.
Three sets of eyes swivel towards the coach door, where Steven Frost leans against the doorjamb arms crossed and mouth set in a lopsided smile. Mental returns the grin, almost with a look of relief.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
About time dude… Right then, lets get rolling!
-- The tape spins, the camera rolls. Every time the camera is on them, the magic happens. Tonight is no different… --
Pure. There’s no real other way to describe a night like this. The pregnant clouds hang low in the sky, but are devoid of the horrid orange glow usually given to them by urban street lights. Joyfully they drop their delicate load, thousands upon thousands of snowflakes, fluttering from the heavens haphazardly like wafer thin jewels. Gracefully they land upon their predecessors, building higher and higher… Walls of purity, lasting just one night. Around them a village sleeps, safe and warm in their beds. Only the two of them really appreciate this sort’ve weather, when the heavens blank the ugliness from the world, be it only for one night. Sat on the cab of a shiny new Mitsubishi Warrior, The Nightbreed light up their Benson & Hedges cigarettes and leans back, staring up at the steadily falling snow.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Y’know, not a lot of people know how deep the relationship of The Nightbreed REALLY runs, do they?. Sure they know about the titles, the winning streak, The money…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
…The Girls…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
…The girls… but no one knows anything about us before that, do they? They’ve never really known what we were like before The MorningStar was born, or The Phoenix raged across the UK scene. The fans don’t really care that the pair of us come from this tiny shit hole, do they?
Frost takes a puff of his cigarette, holds and finally exhales slowly, thoughtfully…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
In fairness, mate, it’s not that thrilling a story, is it? I mean, c’mon. We pulled a few pranks, we had a few snowball fights, we pinched a couple of apples and got into a few scraps. Not much of a story is it?
Mental just chuckles to himself at the thought, lost in memories of a better time. When the world was so much smaller and safer…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
I’m sure we could’ve put it a tad more poetically than THAT, dude…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
bah, you’ve always been the one with words, mate. I’m just the one who dragged your sorry ass out of the fire when that smart mouth of yours landed you in trouble!
Mental chuckles again, shaking his head as he takes a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the snow. A tiny, fiery red spark blazes defiantly against the all consuming white… until it finally becomes overwhelmed and dwindles to nothing…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Maybe that’s why we made such a good team, huh? I dressed ‘em down and you beat ‘em up…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
Aye… Look mate, it’s nice to share these old memories, but it’s Brass Monkeys out ‘ere and I need a pint. Ya wanna get on with it?
Mental shrugs, nods and finally slides down the windshield of the Warrior, across the bonnet and finally landing on his feet at the front fender. Somewhat less gracefully, Frost follows his example, followed by a muttered curse at the snow that’s collected on his jeans as he slid. Taking a step forward, Mental looks directly into the camera; something he very rarely does…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
I told you that without Him, I was just as strong, just as fast. I told you I could fly just as high and could crash into my opponent with just as much impact. Twice now I’ve proven this to you, to him…
He points back at Steven Frost, who’s still scrubbing the snow off his ass.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
… And to myself. Omarion fell pitifully early, whilst one David Calaz pushed me that little bit further. But what did I tell you, David? I told you exactly what was going to happen, I even showed you with the sandbags. You ignored me, and you fell to the Cerebral Shock – possibly the most painful, crippling maneuver ever devised by human mind. One day, you may rise again, hopefully a little bit older, and maybe even a little bit wiser. Believe me, kid, you better had be. But that’s for the future…
Mental runs his fingers through his hair and takes a step back, followed by another, until he’s backed up against the Warriors’ headlights. Leaning back almost nonchalantly, he ponders his next words…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
When I first hit the singles circuit, I was back to square one. I didn’t have The Phoenix to back me up, I had barely any experience at going it solo. But on my fourth match I shocked the world by pinning the Corpse. He, and his fiery little strumpet, underestimated me, thought I was the next flavour of the week, and dismissed me as not even a threat. But he, too, fell to the Cerebral Shock, handing me my first ever singles championship… the WXF Universal title. But that’s in the past…
Hauling himself up, Mental perches himself on the hood of the truck, elbows on knees as he takes a lit cigarette from Steven Frost and taking a contemplative drag. So much to say, so little time to say it…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Convict. The Beast. A man who’s spent more time in court than a pro tennis player. An animal, vicious and deadly. Surely, someone like this wouldn’t make the same mistake? Surely, he wouldn’t dismiss The MorningStar, treat him as lightly as so many fools before him have. Would he? Well, Convict, you’d better not, kid… ‘Cos I sure as hell won’t be making the mistake. I’ve seen you brawl, I’ve seen you leave smears of your victims blood all over the gods damned ring. You think that impresses me? You’re not the only one who can inflict pain, my friend. I’ve been beaten, bruised and bloodied by the best in the business, and I’ve yet to stay down. Now my skills are honed to perfection, thanks to The Phoenix there. He’s brought back my drive, he’s brought back my bloodlust, he’s sharpened my reflexes to needle points and my strength to higher than before. Now, I have one more thing to ask of him…
With a speed bordering on the supernatural, Mental uncoils like a spring, leaping from the hood and onto the unaware Phoenix. Mental smashes his forearm hard against his jaw, bowling him over as both men hit the floor. Quickly Mental regains his feet, leveling a kick of awesome power into the temple of the betrayed Steven Frost. Whilst he rolls away clutching his head, Mental grabs a handful of hair, dragging Frost to his unsure feet and driving his cranium into the hublight of the truck. The tinkling of broken glass is very loud as The MorningStar places Frost in the double underhook clinch, hammering knee after knee into the chest and face before lifting his best friend high… the sending him crashing onto his neck in the Cerebral Shock. Mental lies there for a brief second, regaining his breath before rolling to his feet, leaving Frost a sprawled heap on the ground. Eyes wide with the heat of the moment, blazing with the fires of Madness, Mental steps in close to the camera.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
To be an example!!! Convict, this man was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. This man was the one who watched my back when the world hounded after my very life. You think you’re deranged? You think you’re insane? I am the PRINCE of gods damned insanity, and The Lord of The Fucking Morning!!! If I can do this to the only person on this planet I love, what the hell do you think I’m going to do to you? If I can cripple my best friend, then they’ll be throwing away the key for my actions in that fucking ring! The gold is mine, Convict, all mine! You think you can stop me reaching it? Stand there if you would, stand there and suffer a fate ten times worse than any you’ve seen so far. No One can stop me and The Children Of The Night; not the D.O.A, not the V.N.B, and most assuredly not The Beast! Take my advice and flee, Convict… flee as far and as fast as you possibly can…
But try to Run, You Won’t Get Far…
You Can’t Escape The MorningStar!
With that, Mental turns away from the camera, striding off into the blizzard struck village, still asleep an unaware of the riot that’s taken place outside. Shivering, Eddie “The Lens” turns to Joe Richards, eyes wide and glazed in terror…
:: The Lens ::
I think we’d better get him some help…
<|?|> Voice <|?|>
You need to give up smoking, old boy.
As one, the entire road crew; The Lens and new guy Joe “The Mic” Richards – commissioned by XVI to replace Duncan Holloway after a bar room incident with a pool cue - turn to the doorway leading to the bedroom, to see The MorningStar stood there, wiping his hands on a towel. Not yet wearing his ring gear, he still radiates an aura of power, though clad in just a pair of jeans and an Atticus Black shirt. With an exaggerated groan, Mental lowers himself onto one of the deep sofas.
:: The Lens ::
Getting old, Johnny?
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Come on lens, if I’m old then you’re ancient… that rug you’re wearing proves it!
The Lens splutters whilst the other men chuckle – age jokes never sat well with our disgruntled Irish cameraman. Johnny Mental, one half of the infamous Nightbreed, gives him a broad grin and raises his hands in supplication, hoping to avoid a war of insults here… which suits The Lens fine. Whilst Johnny’s easy going manner and friendly jibing have returned, the seeds of doubt are all too firmly planet in the back of his mind.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Ok Lens, Ok, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, Steve will be along soon, then we’ll be ready to roll. Fancy a quick bash on the Xbox?
<|?|> The Pheonix <|?|>
No time for that, eh Mate? C’mon, we’ve got work to do.
Three sets of eyes swivel towards the coach door, where Steven Frost leans against the doorjamb arms crossed and mouth set in a lopsided smile. Mental returns the grin, almost with a look of relief.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
About time dude… Right then, lets get rolling!
-- The tape spins, the camera rolls. Every time the camera is on them, the magic happens. Tonight is no different… --
Pure. There’s no real other way to describe a night like this. The pregnant clouds hang low in the sky, but are devoid of the horrid orange glow usually given to them by urban street lights. Joyfully they drop their delicate load, thousands upon thousands of snowflakes, fluttering from the heavens haphazardly like wafer thin jewels. Gracefully they land upon their predecessors, building higher and higher… Walls of purity, lasting just one night. Around them a village sleeps, safe and warm in their beds. Only the two of them really appreciate this sort’ve weather, when the heavens blank the ugliness from the world, be it only for one night. Sat on the cab of a shiny new Mitsubishi Warrior, The Nightbreed light up their Benson & Hedges cigarettes and leans back, staring up at the steadily falling snow.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Y’know, not a lot of people know how deep the relationship of The Nightbreed REALLY runs, do they?. Sure they know about the titles, the winning streak, The money…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
…The Girls…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
…The girls… but no one knows anything about us before that, do they? They’ve never really known what we were like before The MorningStar was born, or The Phoenix raged across the UK scene. The fans don’t really care that the pair of us come from this tiny shit hole, do they?
Frost takes a puff of his cigarette, holds and finally exhales slowly, thoughtfully…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
In fairness, mate, it’s not that thrilling a story, is it? I mean, c’mon. We pulled a few pranks, we had a few snowball fights, we pinched a couple of apples and got into a few scraps. Not much of a story is it?
Mental just chuckles to himself at the thought, lost in memories of a better time. When the world was so much smaller and safer…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
I’m sure we could’ve put it a tad more poetically than THAT, dude…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
bah, you’ve always been the one with words, mate. I’m just the one who dragged your sorry ass out of the fire when that smart mouth of yours landed you in trouble!
Mental chuckles again, shaking his head as he takes a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the snow. A tiny, fiery red spark blazes defiantly against the all consuming white… until it finally becomes overwhelmed and dwindles to nothing…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Maybe that’s why we made such a good team, huh? I dressed ‘em down and you beat ‘em up…
<|?|> The Phoenix <|?|>
Aye… Look mate, it’s nice to share these old memories, but it’s Brass Monkeys out ‘ere and I need a pint. Ya wanna get on with it?
Mental shrugs, nods and finally slides down the windshield of the Warrior, across the bonnet and finally landing on his feet at the front fender. Somewhat less gracefully, Frost follows his example, followed by a muttered curse at the snow that’s collected on his jeans as he slid. Taking a step forward, Mental looks directly into the camera; something he very rarely does…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
I told you that without Him, I was just as strong, just as fast. I told you I could fly just as high and could crash into my opponent with just as much impact. Twice now I’ve proven this to you, to him…
He points back at Steven Frost, who’s still scrubbing the snow off his ass.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
… And to myself. Omarion fell pitifully early, whilst one David Calaz pushed me that little bit further. But what did I tell you, David? I told you exactly what was going to happen, I even showed you with the sandbags. You ignored me, and you fell to the Cerebral Shock – possibly the most painful, crippling maneuver ever devised by human mind. One day, you may rise again, hopefully a little bit older, and maybe even a little bit wiser. Believe me, kid, you better had be. But that’s for the future…
Mental runs his fingers through his hair and takes a step back, followed by another, until he’s backed up against the Warriors’ headlights. Leaning back almost nonchalantly, he ponders his next words…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
When I first hit the singles circuit, I was back to square one. I didn’t have The Phoenix to back me up, I had barely any experience at going it solo. But on my fourth match I shocked the world by pinning the Corpse. He, and his fiery little strumpet, underestimated me, thought I was the next flavour of the week, and dismissed me as not even a threat. But he, too, fell to the Cerebral Shock, handing me my first ever singles championship… the WXF Universal title. But that’s in the past…
Hauling himself up, Mental perches himself on the hood of the truck, elbows on knees as he takes a lit cigarette from Steven Frost and taking a contemplative drag. So much to say, so little time to say it…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Convict. The Beast. A man who’s spent more time in court than a pro tennis player. An animal, vicious and deadly. Surely, someone like this wouldn’t make the same mistake? Surely, he wouldn’t dismiss The MorningStar, treat him as lightly as so many fools before him have. Would he? Well, Convict, you’d better not, kid… ‘Cos I sure as hell won’t be making the mistake. I’ve seen you brawl, I’ve seen you leave smears of your victims blood all over the gods damned ring. You think that impresses me? You’re not the only one who can inflict pain, my friend. I’ve been beaten, bruised and bloodied by the best in the business, and I’ve yet to stay down. Now my skills are honed to perfection, thanks to The Phoenix there. He’s brought back my drive, he’s brought back my bloodlust, he’s sharpened my reflexes to needle points and my strength to higher than before. Now, I have one more thing to ask of him…
With a speed bordering on the supernatural, Mental uncoils like a spring, leaping from the hood and onto the unaware Phoenix. Mental smashes his forearm hard against his jaw, bowling him over as both men hit the floor. Quickly Mental regains his feet, leveling a kick of awesome power into the temple of the betrayed Steven Frost. Whilst he rolls away clutching his head, Mental grabs a handful of hair, dragging Frost to his unsure feet and driving his cranium into the hublight of the truck. The tinkling of broken glass is very loud as The MorningStar places Frost in the double underhook clinch, hammering knee after knee into the chest and face before lifting his best friend high… the sending him crashing onto his neck in the Cerebral Shock. Mental lies there for a brief second, regaining his breath before rolling to his feet, leaving Frost a sprawled heap on the ground. Eyes wide with the heat of the moment, blazing with the fires of Madness, Mental steps in close to the camera.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
To be an example!!! Convict, this man was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. This man was the one who watched my back when the world hounded after my very life. You think you’re deranged? You think you’re insane? I am the PRINCE of gods damned insanity, and The Lord of The Fucking Morning!!! If I can do this to the only person on this planet I love, what the hell do you think I’m going to do to you? If I can cripple my best friend, then they’ll be throwing away the key for my actions in that fucking ring! The gold is mine, Convict, all mine! You think you can stop me reaching it? Stand there if you would, stand there and suffer a fate ten times worse than any you’ve seen so far. No One can stop me and The Children Of The Night; not the D.O.A, not the V.N.B, and most assuredly not The Beast! Take my advice and flee, Convict… flee as far and as fast as you possibly can…
But try to Run, You Won’t Get Far…
You Can’t Escape The MorningStar!
With that, Mental turns away from the camera, striding off into the blizzard struck village, still asleep an unaware of the riot that’s taken place outside. Shivering, Eddie “The Lens” turns to Joe Richards, eyes wide and glazed in terror…
:: The Lens ::
I think we’d better get him some help…