Post by Sabin / Madjinn on Aug 17, 2023 22:45:44 GMT
FAMILY MEETING
At twenty-years-old, Sabin had already accomplished a great number of things that some people had never been able to reach after a twenty-year career. He had become the youngest IWF Men’s World Champion… he had become the youngest member of the IWF Hall of Fame… he had become a triple crown champion by also acquiring the IWF World Tag Team titles alongside Angel, and finally by capturing the IWF World Television Championship. Furthermore, a wide range of accusations, Sabin had earned all of these accolades without having to have anyone go to bat for him.
At the end of the day, though, Sabin was still a child… an adult, as recognized by the government, but still a child in the eyes of every adult. He did not have the mental prowess that his mother, and his stepfather had… That was something that could not be taught; it could only be learned, and it could only be learned through the bitter taste of defeat. Up until now, he had only tasted defeat a handful of times. He was a victim to his emotions, a victim to his anger.
On this particular day, Tara had pulled her son to her home office. A well-decorated room, filled with all of the accolades that she had earned throughout her own illustrious career, as well as her plans and ventures that she hoped to accomplish. Jennie, Tara’s sister and Sabin’s aunt, joined them in the room during this day as they were doing their best to console the younger Docherty.
Tara sits on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, her elbow propped up on the armrest, and her head resting on the palm of her hand. Jennie sits on the backrest of the couch with her back against the wall, hunched forward with her hands clasped together. The footsteps resound with every step whilst Sabin paces back and forth, and his facial expressions twist and contort as he races through the disappointment, the anger, the frustration, the embarrassment, and the shame he felt from his defeat.
“So that’s it…” Tara says in a soft, yet commanding tone.
“It’s not–” Sabin mutters, but is quickly cut off by his mother.
“It’s over!”
Sabin holds in his breath for a moment as if to bring a sense of clarity, but he turns on his heels and walks toward Tara– sensing the tension, Jennie looks ready to jump to her feet to get between her nephew and her sister, but a subtle gesture from Tara relieves her.
“What are you talking about? I can beat him! I know I can, I just need–”
“To what end?” Tara asks.
Sabin’s knees shake as he feels the world beneath him beginning to crumble… He was so determined to win. He was so determined on forcing his opponent to tap out. The desire he felt could only be described more as a bloodlust, a need for Matt to tap out, and admit to himself and to the world that he was not on his level… that he could not win. The match did not end the way that it played thousands of times in his head. His teeth begin to chatter as he fumbles over the words and fights to restrain them, and both of his fists clench as his nails start digging into his skin.
The nurturing mother finally stands to her feet, and wraps her arms around her son, as he in turn grits his teeth to try to control the chattering and collapses his head against his mother’s shoulder… Tara strokes the hair and back of Sabin a couple times, trying to sooth him, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Listen, Sabin, listen–” Tara helps Sabin straighten his posture, and looks him in the eyes as she continues, “He never liked our family. Never. He was never going to, and he was always going to attack us so long as we gave him attention, and do you know what would’ve happened if you had won? He’d have made every excuse in the book! He was probably practicing every speech in the mirror to justify himself if he lost. He’s exhausted, he’s hurt, just whatever excuse that he could fathom– he would’ve made. Okay? So… we’re done, okay? We’re done dealing with him. Angel and I already talked about it: this is his fight, and we aren’t taking any part in it anymore. Your focus should be on Heir to the Throne, and winning it. Okay?”
Sabin’s breath shakes but he nods in understanding of Tara’s advice.
“Dean really was the sensible one out of all of us…” Jennie mutters. The mere comment earns the attention of both Tara and Sabin, and Jennie glances back and forth at both of them before explaining, “I mean, really, that douche-canoe has said and done everything to try to get under our skin, but Dean just brushes it all off… pays him no mind… so… let’s just follow suit.”
Sabin tosses himself back against the backrest of the couch, groaning still from the frustration that he felt from feeling like a failure this past week. Tara draws in a deep breath while maintaining her own posture, and glances at Jennie and then to Sabin, “Do both of you remember Tanya?”
“Byrd?” Sabin continues.
“Yeah…” Tara answers.
“Only slightly,” Sabin says.
“I remember she hated you!” Jennie exclaims.
“Yeah…” Tara says with a slight chuckle and scratches her head momentarily, “That was one of the things between us. Between– Tanya and I… I’m not going to say that I didn’t do anything to not deserve her hate. Like– I did a lot, and she had every right to hate me. Y’see, we had something of a rivalry with one another. We both wanted to be better than the other…more than anything. We didn’t want to share the spotlight. There is no other word for it, okay? She hated me… But now–” Tara shrugs, “Look at me now, and look at her. She is– forgotten… Nobody remembers her name. Nobody talks about her, but I’m still turning heads everywhere I go! I’m still being sought for new promotions to put them on the map! The hate that she felt for me– ate her alive. When I left her alone, she had no purpose. She faded into obscurity.”
Tara pauses for a moment to see Sabin pondering the message of the story.
“Do not let these people get that power over you. If you give them that power, then when they are no longer fueling you… you are going to be nothing. Let them hate you. Let them loathe you. Then– when you stop giving them the attention they need, they are going to fade just like Tanya faded.”
A sudden knock came to the door.
“It’s open,” Tara calls out.
The door pries open a little bit, and Angel is standing there with Lilith in his arms as she kicks her legs rapidly, “Is it decided?”
“I think it is…” Tara answers. There is a hint of disappointment in her tone, as she felt like she was letting Angel down, “We will not be able to help you with your fight, honey. I’m incredibly sorry, but–”
“It’s fine.” Angel states sternly, “It’s what’s best for Sabin, and it’s what’s best for you.”
“I really am… sorry…” Tara says.
“Don’t be,” Angel shrugs.
Despite the reassurance from Angel, Tara still took a quick glance at the room around her… Sabin… Jennie… and as Angel departed from the room, she stood up from her seat, “I should go talk to him. Are you going to be okay, son?” Tara asks as she gets to the doorframe, and turns to give him her attention.
Sabin clasps his hands together and gives a subtle nod. The scene fades out momentarily, only to re-emerge within the confines of the void.
ONE MISTAKE
All it took was one mistake… One mistake for Wraith to fail in his conquest to have a clean sweep through Heir to the Throne. All it took was one mistake for the record to read “two and one”. Just… one… mistake. Wraith stands with his arms at his side while the crimson irises gaze forward. Ahead of him are two piles of rubble to the left, and two stone sculptures to the right– the two on the right that are still formed are in the shape of Matt Knox and John Nash Strader. Spotlights hover over each of the sculptures, even the ones that were in ruin.
“We lost sight, didn’t we?”
The dawdling question escapes from behind Wraith’s lips. His chest raises as he draws in a deep breath, and the nostrils flare when he snorts out heavily…a low growl is heard under his breath, and his teeth begin chattering while tilting his head back, cracking his neck with every movement.
“We were supposed to seal our victory in our latest match, and stamp our golden ticket to the finals of Heir to the Throne! Everything was right there. Everything was right in front of us. All we needed was that one win and that would have silenced any and all of the naysayers! Any and all of the people that doubted that this was going to be my year to finally be announced as the rightful heir. We knew what the goal was, but we allowed ourselves to be… distracted,” he snarls through gritted teeth, “We allowed ourselves to be blinded by anger! Blinded by rage! Blinded by hate! We… were… blinded. We took our focus away from what really matters at the end of this tournament… We rarely cared about who was standing across the ring from us, and every single time they started getting under our skin–” Wraith digs his nails against his arm, scratching upward, “They have been able to walk out with their arm raised as the winner! We have always done our best work when we didn’t care about the person that stood across from us. It was never… personal. It was just something we needed to do. It never mattered who we were going to be in the ring against…” Pushing off from his heel, Wraith treks slowly forward with his eyes fixated on darkness ahead of him.
“Whether it was Nick Danger,” As the name escapes, the spotlight over the rubble on the far left goes out, “Or James Gilmore,” the light over the next pile of rubble goes out, “Matt Knox…” the spotlight over Matt Knox’s sculpture goes out, “Or John… Nash… Strader…” the final spotlight goes out, and now the area is enshrouded in absolute darkness.
“The only thing that ever mattered…”
One more step forward, and just as a click resonates throughout the vast emptiness, a stage– a platform ahead of Wraith brightens the room. Wraith has stepped onto the first step of the ever-familiar throne room that he had visited since being named in Heir to the Throne for this year. Ascending to the top of the platform, Wraith’s eyes look over the empty throne as if to take a moment to admire its majesty.
“WINNING Heir to the Throne! Two years in a row, it has just…escaped me. Two years in a row, I have had to watch someone else be announced as the winner of the prestigious event, while I was forced to sit and wait for another year– another opportunity– to have my name etched into history… Two years in a row. I was not going to lose it for a third year– I am not going to lose it for a third year! So–” he sucks in air through his teeth as a shiver runs down his spine, and his whole body jolts from the mild chill, “We have lost our perfect record… But this will not escape me!” His voice projects and resounds throughout the vast emptiness.
He sneers while standing in front of the throne before finally taking a seat, and his clawed fingernail scratches at the metallic material…the red irises continue to glow a little brighter when regains his focus on the path ahead of him, but his lips curl into a grin before snickering and continuing with his speech.
“All eyes in this tournament are going to be on me after what happened, and everybody is going to be looking to pick at the scraps… Everybody is going to be looking to capitalize on a weakness that has been exposed– they are going to draw on it… tear at it… do everything they can to pry it open and bleed me dry!” He bites down on his bottom lip, and takes a moment to let out a maniacal cackle, “But– it doesn’t work twice. John Nash Strader– Strader… a name, a legacy, that resounds throughout this industry just as well as Docherty, and just as well as Blake. But I am going to say that it is a legacy… that is weak… and do you want to know why that is? I heard what you had to say a couple weeks ago– I saw how you competed in the ring… You did not want to hurt your friend– your family– because that’s what he is to you, right? Family? And that is what I find to be absolutely pathetic…” Wraith shakes his head in utter disgust.
“When Angel and I marched into the ring– as family– we went to tear each other apart! We went to tear each other limb from limb until there was no doubt as to who the winner was… When Dean and I fought– when Dean and Angel fought– when Tláa and Tláak’w fought! NONE–” he says with a growl riddling his voice, “–of us ever held back! None of us ever pulled a punch! None of us went easy on the other because they were family… We went out there with one thing in mind, and one thing alone: glory. Self-preservation. We do not hold back against each other because we RESPECT each other! We RESPECT what the rest of us are capable of. We RESPECT what this is all about! We RESPECT that each and every one of us wants to be able to stand at the top of the mountain and have all eyes on us. But you pulled your punches. You went soft all because you were looking at family, when you should have been pushing them to become better!” Wraith clicks his tongue several times.
“I know– I know that that is something I’m not going to have to worry about… I know that you are not looking across the ring at me, and seeing a friend, and you are not seeing family, but rather, you are seeing everything your woman wishes you could be! The bloodthirsty… violent… merciless… monster…” Cocking his head to the side, and curling his lips into that infamous Docherty smirk.
He raises a hand and strokes his chin a couple of times, flashing his teeth at the camera, “And then there’s Nick Danger. Ever the optimist! Ever… the surprise… You are finally going to get what you wanted, right? You are finally going to be back in the ring with me after you were oh so certain that you were going to defeat me in the first week of Heir to the Throne, and all I can really ask is– what happened? What happened? When you thought that my title was going to act as your shield– what happened? What happened when you thought my destiny was yours? What happened?!”
Hunching forward, Wraith pinches their fingers together.
“You were so close, Nick. So very close! You broke one barrier… You finally took a singles title, but then you let yourself get carried away! You let yourself believe– and I mean truly believe that you were on a level that you were just not ready for! What’s going to happen when we walk into the ring, Nick? What’s going to happen for you when you look across the ring and you see me staring right back at you? Are you going to–” he raises his hand to point at his eye, “–see red? The same red that I saw last week? Is it going to blind you to the fight that is ahead of you?”
Wraith sniffles and sits back in the throne, adjusting himself in the seat to get more comfortable. “Do you understand that no matter what you do– no matter how well you perform, no matter how much heart you bring to this fight, that there is no chance that you are going to walk out as THE HEIR? You could win this week… you could win next week… and you are never going to be The Heir. I think you are going to slip. I think you are going to stumble. I think you are going to get in the ring with me, and you are going to want– so… very… badly… to make me suffer; to make me pay, that you are going to end up COSTING yourself the match!”
He takes a momentary pause, and smacks his lips together. Adjusting his posture ever slightly, Wraith continues, “But I stand by what I said… Last week… as a mistake. Last week was a misstep. This week– I am not going to make that same mistake! I am not going to look at John Nash Strader, nor am I going to look at Nick Danger as my opponent– I am going to look at them as my obstacle! THEY! ARE IN! MY WAY! They are what is stopping me from sealing this once and for all… for breaking the hearts of everybody else in the tournament and cementing my victory to earn my spot in the finals, and then… to win… and challenge my dear brother for the IWF Men’s World Championship! NOTHING and NO ONE is stopping me.”
Wraith chatters his teeth, laughing as the scene fades out completely.
END.
Well howdy there pardner.