Post by James Gilmore on Feb 28, 2018 23:03:49 GMT
Journal Entry #5 - “Rules of Kumite”
”Livin’ in the Palace of Lost Souls consisted of three things:
Routine, routine...and even more routine.
I shook off that first embarrassment, thinkin’ that everything was gonna be on the upswing. The nonstop hammerin’ of things like duty and honor continued, and so did the trainin’. I kept workin’ constantly, tryin’ to prove myself that even with one eye I could somehow manage to surpass the competition. Rookies like myself...they got the most Kumite fights a week with four, and I’d give ‘em everything I can muster, to generally mixed results.
I do have to make a confession...those first three weeks were the toughest I ever been through. Of course, I’ve always taken great pleasure in real competition; yet I didn’t expect the pain to be so swift and sudden--like a knife bein’ drilled in my back over and over again. The White Mages--those in white robes who treat injuries and also serve as counselors--patched me up as best they could, but I would often sport fresh scars and bruises from each subsequent fight. They already knew I was being battered around like some pinata with Tootsie Rolls and other goodies stuffed inside. I wore those scars on my face like a badge of honor.
That was the life I wanted to live--nothin' but straight-up competition. That was my routine--and I was hellbent on not letting this place get the best of me.
That was, ‘til one fateful time period beginnin’ in mid-December. At that point onward, everything began to change…”
December 13, 2017 - 1:45 PM
Inside the Palace Arena, James Gilmore is on the runway, fighting the Lions’ Willy Thompson, a cruiserweight of similar build and stats. After a down-and-dirty match that saw plenty of eye-gouging from the Lions’ fighter, the five-minute contest would reach its climax when James had Willy locked in his signature triangle chokehold, tightening in the pressure as a Black Mage--a black-robed official responsible for Palace recruitment and security--checked on the action.
“Say it! SAY IT!,” Gilmore screamed at his helpless victim, who flailed his arms in a futile attempt to power his way out of the submission. “Dyadya! Dyadya!,” Thompson cried out as the gong sounded to stop the match. The bloodthirsty throng cheered and whistled as Gilmore stood up and looked down upon his defeated opponent with a slight grin...
...one that turned into a demonic smirk, as if something had snapped from within.
”I don’t know what came upon me next. I don’t know who or what was tryin’ to control me. I was victorious that day, yet I wanted more. I felt the overwhelmin’ desire to kill the son-of-a-bitch for gougin’ me in the eye repeatedly throughout the fight.
I...I snapped.
All I remember doin’ was throw a few elbows into the back of Thompson’s head, pounding him into the deck like hammer on nail. I was in another zone, focused on nothin’ else except that poor guy. Two black-robes rushed in to pull me off, and I started dancin’ around like some wild Indian doin’ a rain dance or some shit like that.
I couldn’t control myself. I felt...as if I was on strings and couldn’t break ‘em.
The worst part? It continued after I went into the locker room after the fight…”
“Ain’t that a kick in the dick dude, I WON!,” Gilmore exclaimed as he stepped out of the communal shower, covered in nothing else save for a large white towel. “Yeah rook! Way to go,” Gary Hudson, wearing black boxers, yelled out, slapping his teammate a high-five. “Them Lions are creampuffs man. He went like this, he went like that...then I locked him--BOOM! Game over,” James recalled with a smile. He was relishing in his victory and didn’t truly care about his post-fight antics.
“Well that ain’t what I heard,” Patriot Danny Dickerson, fully dressed in his official attire, chimed in. “Who gives a shit bubba, I WHIPPED THAT BITCH!,” Gilmore boasted, leading Hudson to pump his fist. “Fuckin’ A!”
“Beatin’ a guy after he taps out?! Ummm..that’s not exactly what I call a ‘victory,’” Gilmore’s rival said with a lecturing expression on his mug. “Ya know dude, I...I-I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know that a goddamn, self-absorbed, self-righteous, cocksuckin’, fuckin’ emotionless ROBOT had any sense of stroke around here,” James shot back, mocking Danny’s “Iceman” approach to the Kumite.
The room fell silent as Dickerson approached Gilmore. “You truly are a cowboy...right?,” he asked him menacingly.
“That’s right…Mary Sue,” Gilmore answered with a sinister cackle and a demonic glare.
”I wish I knew what was comin’ over me. I wish I could just go back in time and have a talk with the stupid idiot I used to be and maybe smack some sense into him. But it wasn’t gonna be as simple as I thought it would be.
Somethin’ had to snap me out of this state of mind…”
“GILMORE!”
James turned his head, gazing his eyes upon a Black Mage who sported a very authoritative demeanor.
“Get your butt back in uniform and up to Sisko’s office--NOW!”
With a heavy sigh and solemn headshake, James could only close his eyes and look down at the tile floor as Hudson and Dickerson quietly left the room.
”That was it...it was all over for me.
What was it gonna be? The rack? Hangin’? The red-hot poker in the eye? An eternity’s worth of calisthenics?! Heh...those were only mere child’s play compared to what was about to happen to me as I stepped into Mr. Sisko’s office…”
In an office once occupied by prison wardens, James stood straight at attention, his feet at a perfect 45-degree angle as he watched the Blue Mage--Instructors at the Palace that wore blue robes--named Avery Shatner Sisko, the eldest son of a retired Tarrant County judge, sat at his desk and read from his tablet. He plopped the device on the wood and stood up, pacing around James with a stern expression on his face.
“Mr. Gilmore,” he said as he slowly walked around the room, talking with a tone of voice very reminiscent of a “by-the-book” ship captain. “You’re a helluva fighter, a man that is driven to compete no matter the price you’re willing to pay...but I want you to understand that there are RULES to this bloodsport of death and honor!”
James nodded, listening to Mr. Sisko’s pronounced tone. “You broke one of those rules when you kept on beating your opponent after he cried ‘uncle,’" he spoke sharply. “Then you broke another one with that damned CHILDISH crotch-choping rain dance!”
“Sir...I just got a l’il bit carried away. It felt...It felt as if somethin’ or someone was tryin’ to--,” James tried to explain his side of the story.
“Stow the excuses!,” Sisko cut him off. “Following the Rules of Kumite, much like the Four Pillars, are keys to you and your Club mate’s success in this institution. They are NOT flexible, nor am I. You WILL obey them to the letter, or you won’t have to worry about the living conditions anymore because you will be on the next Greyhound bus back to your original predicament! Do I make myself CLEAR?!”
“Yessir,” Gilmore responded. Avery approached him and placed a firm hand on his left shoulder.
“I will admit…,” he paused, peering his gaze at a replica of the Mona Lisa that hung on the wall behind his desk. “I have gained a considerable amount of admiration for your fighting spirit and your dedication to the training and the classes, but I must impress upon you the seriousness of your infractions. The Cowboys will not be getting ANY points for your performance in today’s Kumite matches...and I sentence you to seven days in solitary confinement.”
James took a deep breath, nodding as Sisko pointed to a Black Mage standing guard at the door. “Escort Mr. Gilmore to the AdSeg unit.”
“Right sir,” the black-robed guard said before prompting James. “Come with me.”
The gruff instructor watched as Gilmore was whisked away to the hole. He sat back down at his desk, deep in thought as he resumed reading the contents that were being displayed on his personal Android table. He popped up without warning and pressed a button on his intercom. “Sisko to Farrell,” he announced.
“Farrell here,” the voice of a female receptionist rang over the speaker. “Have Gary Hudson and Danny Dickerson report to my office immediately. There’s a private matter that needs to be discussed.”
“Acknowledged. I'll send for them,” she answered back. Sisko stretched his arms out, leaning back in his chair before mustering a slight facepalm. It was at this moment in time when something began to change in his personality. It was as if he had a plan in mind--one that he didn’t want James Gilmore to know about until the time was right.
“Hang in there James. We’re here to help you..."
TO BE CONTINUED…
”Livin’ in the Palace of Lost Souls consisted of three things:
Routine, routine...and even more routine.
I shook off that first embarrassment, thinkin’ that everything was gonna be on the upswing. The nonstop hammerin’ of things like duty and honor continued, and so did the trainin’. I kept workin’ constantly, tryin’ to prove myself that even with one eye I could somehow manage to surpass the competition. Rookies like myself...they got the most Kumite fights a week with four, and I’d give ‘em everything I can muster, to generally mixed results.
I do have to make a confession...those first three weeks were the toughest I ever been through. Of course, I’ve always taken great pleasure in real competition; yet I didn’t expect the pain to be so swift and sudden--like a knife bein’ drilled in my back over and over again. The White Mages--those in white robes who treat injuries and also serve as counselors--patched me up as best they could, but I would often sport fresh scars and bruises from each subsequent fight. They already knew I was being battered around like some pinata with Tootsie Rolls and other goodies stuffed inside. I wore those scars on my face like a badge of honor.
That was the life I wanted to live--nothin' but straight-up competition. That was my routine--and I was hellbent on not letting this place get the best of me.
That was, ‘til one fateful time period beginnin’ in mid-December. At that point onward, everything began to change…”
December 13, 2017 - 1:45 PM
Inside the Palace Arena, James Gilmore is on the runway, fighting the Lions’ Willy Thompson, a cruiserweight of similar build and stats. After a down-and-dirty match that saw plenty of eye-gouging from the Lions’ fighter, the five-minute contest would reach its climax when James had Willy locked in his signature triangle chokehold, tightening in the pressure as a Black Mage--a black-robed official responsible for Palace recruitment and security--checked on the action.
“Say it! SAY IT!,” Gilmore screamed at his helpless victim, who flailed his arms in a futile attempt to power his way out of the submission. “Dyadya! Dyadya!,” Thompson cried out as the gong sounded to stop the match. The bloodthirsty throng cheered and whistled as Gilmore stood up and looked down upon his defeated opponent with a slight grin...
...one that turned into a demonic smirk, as if something had snapped from within.
”I don’t know what came upon me next. I don’t know who or what was tryin’ to control me. I was victorious that day, yet I wanted more. I felt the overwhelmin’ desire to kill the son-of-a-bitch for gougin’ me in the eye repeatedly throughout the fight.
I...I snapped.
All I remember doin’ was throw a few elbows into the back of Thompson’s head, pounding him into the deck like hammer on nail. I was in another zone, focused on nothin’ else except that poor guy. Two black-robes rushed in to pull me off, and I started dancin’ around like some wild Indian doin’ a rain dance or some shit like that.
I couldn’t control myself. I felt...as if I was on strings and couldn’t break ‘em.
The worst part? It continued after I went into the locker room after the fight…”
“Ain’t that a kick in the dick dude, I WON!,” Gilmore exclaimed as he stepped out of the communal shower, covered in nothing else save for a large white towel. “Yeah rook! Way to go,” Gary Hudson, wearing black boxers, yelled out, slapping his teammate a high-five. “Them Lions are creampuffs man. He went like this, he went like that...then I locked him--BOOM! Game over,” James recalled with a smile. He was relishing in his victory and didn’t truly care about his post-fight antics.
“Well that ain’t what I heard,” Patriot Danny Dickerson, fully dressed in his official attire, chimed in. “Who gives a shit bubba, I WHIPPED THAT BITCH!,” Gilmore boasted, leading Hudson to pump his fist. “Fuckin’ A!”
“Beatin’ a guy after he taps out?! Ummm..that’s not exactly what I call a ‘victory,’” Gilmore’s rival said with a lecturing expression on his mug. “Ya know dude, I...I-I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know that a goddamn, self-absorbed, self-righteous, cocksuckin’, fuckin’ emotionless ROBOT had any sense of stroke around here,” James shot back, mocking Danny’s “Iceman” approach to the Kumite.
The room fell silent as Dickerson approached Gilmore. “You truly are a cowboy...right?,” he asked him menacingly.
“That’s right…Mary Sue,” Gilmore answered with a sinister cackle and a demonic glare.
”I wish I knew what was comin’ over me. I wish I could just go back in time and have a talk with the stupid idiot I used to be and maybe smack some sense into him. But it wasn’t gonna be as simple as I thought it would be.
Somethin’ had to snap me out of this state of mind…”
“GILMORE!”
James turned his head, gazing his eyes upon a Black Mage who sported a very authoritative demeanor.
“Get your butt back in uniform and up to Sisko’s office--NOW!”
With a heavy sigh and solemn headshake, James could only close his eyes and look down at the tile floor as Hudson and Dickerson quietly left the room.
”That was it...it was all over for me.
What was it gonna be? The rack? Hangin’? The red-hot poker in the eye? An eternity’s worth of calisthenics?! Heh...those were only mere child’s play compared to what was about to happen to me as I stepped into Mr. Sisko’s office…”
In an office once occupied by prison wardens, James stood straight at attention, his feet at a perfect 45-degree angle as he watched the Blue Mage--Instructors at the Palace that wore blue robes--named Avery Shatner Sisko, the eldest son of a retired Tarrant County judge, sat at his desk and read from his tablet. He plopped the device on the wood and stood up, pacing around James with a stern expression on his face.
“Mr. Gilmore,” he said as he slowly walked around the room, talking with a tone of voice very reminiscent of a “by-the-book” ship captain. “You’re a helluva fighter, a man that is driven to compete no matter the price you’re willing to pay...but I want you to understand that there are RULES to this bloodsport of death and honor!”
James nodded, listening to Mr. Sisko’s pronounced tone. “You broke one of those rules when you kept on beating your opponent after he cried ‘uncle,’" he spoke sharply. “Then you broke another one with that damned CHILDISH crotch-choping rain dance!”
“Sir...I just got a l’il bit carried away. It felt...It felt as if somethin’ or someone was tryin’ to--,” James tried to explain his side of the story.
“Stow the excuses!,” Sisko cut him off. “Following the Rules of Kumite, much like the Four Pillars, are keys to you and your Club mate’s success in this institution. They are NOT flexible, nor am I. You WILL obey them to the letter, or you won’t have to worry about the living conditions anymore because you will be on the next Greyhound bus back to your original predicament! Do I make myself CLEAR?!”
“Yessir,” Gilmore responded. Avery approached him and placed a firm hand on his left shoulder.
“I will admit…,” he paused, peering his gaze at a replica of the Mona Lisa that hung on the wall behind his desk. “I have gained a considerable amount of admiration for your fighting spirit and your dedication to the training and the classes, but I must impress upon you the seriousness of your infractions. The Cowboys will not be getting ANY points for your performance in today’s Kumite matches...and I sentence you to seven days in solitary confinement.”
James took a deep breath, nodding as Sisko pointed to a Black Mage standing guard at the door. “Escort Mr. Gilmore to the AdSeg unit.”
“Right sir,” the black-robed guard said before prompting James. “Come with me.”
The gruff instructor watched as Gilmore was whisked away to the hole. He sat back down at his desk, deep in thought as he resumed reading the contents that were being displayed on his personal Android table. He popped up without warning and pressed a button on his intercom. “Sisko to Farrell,” he announced.
“Farrell here,” the voice of a female receptionist rang over the speaker. “Have Gary Hudson and Danny Dickerson report to my office immediately. There’s a private matter that needs to be discussed.”
“Acknowledged. I'll send for them,” she answered back. Sisko stretched his arms out, leaning back in his chair before mustering a slight facepalm. It was at this moment in time when something began to change in his personality. It was as if he had a plan in mind--one that he didn’t want James Gilmore to know about until the time was right.
“Hang in there James. We’re here to help you..."
TO BE CONTINUED…
Well howdy there pardner.