Post by Princess on Apr 18, 2014 14:23:09 GMT
The dim lighting is almost a romantic atmosphere, if not for the throbbing industrial music in the background. The bartender is a waif of a woman, pale with dark hair that rests just below her shoulderblades. She is wearing a victorian dress, navy, and stares with almost unliving eyes. I see the cane before I see the man, his hand resting on a goblet of crimson liquid. He's drinking already, and I fear it's not wine he is partaking in while he waits.
"Sephiroth, you wanted to meet with me?"
He says nothing, only gestures to the seat. I feel his shadow-hand clinging to my shoulder, forcing me down into the booth and affixing my eyes on his. The air becomes chilled, and a weight presses upon my soul momentarily before a smile crosses his ivory features. He folds his hands as I sit. His long hair flowing down around his face. Sephiroth looks haggard and run down and yet there is something still regal in his nature something almost admirable as he motions. He looks up as I fake a smile at him.
"Hello, Kristoff. I'm sorry I was unavailable this week. I had some... problems. I hope you understand."
Sephiroth raises a glass of red wine as the waitress wofts by dropping a glass of sangria right in front of me.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you I hope that is all right."
Cautiously I sit, focused on the eyes of my partner. I look at the drink suspiciously, cautiously taking a sip before opening my mouth.
"I understand, I too had things to take care of. I had a family issue to deal with, at my mother's grave."
Sephiroth looked oddly at that comment, as though something clicked in his head for a moment, but he sipped his wine and shrugged it off. I continued.
"As you no doubt saw, I was gloating my victories over the one obstacle that was in my life, from childhood. I'd probably have had two obstacles if not for that worthless pile of feces that walked out before I could remember. Not even a photograph of him, no calls, no letters, nothing. Who would ever be so worthless to abandon any child. It infuriates me even thinking of it, as any thoughts of my mother usually leads to."
Seph downed the glass rather quickly grabbing a nearby bottle and pouring once more. His head down face covered in a blanket of hair showing no emotion save for the pouring of wine.
"Now, now, even now that is your mother talking. Focus on the task at hand. Besides, I'm sure he had his reasons."
He sighed and tossed his hair back tossing back his drink again his face sullen. Stubble apparent, he has the look of a man not slept in days. A man troubled by his demons.
"Your mother... tell me about her. What sort of woman was she like?"
A bitch, a control freak, nothing too much to be said about her, really.
"She was too focused on money, work, and having me succeed being "Normal""
Truth, yes, but not the full truth. I wished to kill my own mother before her death. Thank god for Cancer, thank god for a lot of things.
"Virginia Bates, or as everyone around us called her, Virginia B, for Bitch."
Seph suddenly choked a bit on his drink coughing slightly as he looks at his partner in a strange manner like a deer in the headlights. Quickly he taps his chest suddenly as if hit by a sudden bought of a coughing fit. He adjusts his cravat as I look on surprised by the very human response. He looks down at the once white shirt now covered in crimson.
"I... I see. I'm sorry for your loss. Will you excuse me for a moment? I think I need a towel."
He adjourns himself leaving his wallet at the table in his seat. His sudden mannerism one of shock and suspicion. Confused, I look down at the table and see he has left his wallet. I look around, before opening when it is clear. Inside is a picture of myself as a younger man, perhaps no older than 17. Where did he get this? The feeling of his cold shadow-hand on my shoulder is accompanied by the "My Child" in my head. I shake my head, he's obviously obsessed with knowing everything about me, it says nothing about him stalking me for years, right?
_________________
"So here we are, set up to be clashing for the first time, for the last time. I say this, because if this is anything like the last two people I've beaten, you'll fade out from this place as if you never existed in the first place. Mason disappeared, nobody cares about Pooler anymore. It's like I'm some sort of demonic presence, sucking the life out of the very bones of those I defeat. Surely, though, I've had some poor luck lately. Falcon, a few tag matches with Sephiroth who is losing his mind as much as I am. I hate the spotlight he's shown on me, the interviews, the videos, the photo sessions, the ads everywhere. I can't go to the grocery store without seeing my own face on some billboard or bus-stop. And you, you're just a new man, looking to capture your first gold here. You're not ready, John. You're a "Florida Cracker" as you call yourself, a white man trying to be black in a state that is almost as deadly in the wilderness as Australia. Gators, copperheads, the everglades. You live in the land that once held the dark passenger of Dexter, darkly dreaming in our imaginations and on Showtime. And here you are, facing the FIRST EVER Invictus Champion, in your first Invictus rules match. I live by these rules, I..."
My briefcase is brought up from out of view. A sinister smile crosses my face.
"You've never felt the cold steel upon your face, have you? You've never seen the blood cloud your vision, draining your energy with the throbbing of your heart. You never knew fear, unadulterated, unfiltered. I have. I've faced monsters, I've become one. And you, you're still green, like the swamps. You know sunshine, you know love, and you don't understand the amount of pain that this place is willing to give upon a challenge. Mr. Barber, you have so much to learn about the ways of this place, even now, even with your ascension in the ranks and trying to find your foothold, you have yet to find the truth, the place you belong. And I will tell you know, it is NOT where I am. You are NOT Invictus material. So I'd just not show up, for fear of your beautiful features being forever altered by a madman."
My Child, preparing for war. Deliciously verbose, narrating the violence to come. Crimson will spill, and you shall use your focus to overcome.
"I am not, however, writing you off, Barber. It's just that you've not faced a man like me yet. You've not faced a match like this. You'll come in without a single bit of knowledge besides videotapes, the kind I've used to study you. But video of violence with weapons, of Invictus type desires to do ANYTHING to win...those are only borne through the scars you will come to bear after our match at the Viewer's Choice-Named Pay Per View on Sunday night. And you, you'll be giving the viewers their bloodthirst. And their crimson lust shall be quenched, like the lust for victory I'm feeling rise within my veins. It courses, John, because I am feeling underwhelmed by my own victories of late, and this is not the time to falter, to lose the title I've worked so hard, destroyed the lives of men, for. Again, I point you to Mason. I dragged him through the mud, to win the Heavyweight Championship, and he's gone. Disappeared after being completely destroyed by me. I didn't need nails, or a cross. All I needed was my body, and my brilliant mind. I destroyed his will to compete and he is gone, gone for the time being and hopefully forever. And Pooler, he's suffered since losing to me. You see, he held that Cruiserweight title like it would NEVER leave him, but when it did, it took something with it, part of his soul. And now you, the bright, shining new face around these parts. From the sunshine state, and I reside in Sunnyvale. Sun vs Sun, but you'll be the weaker of the two. No amount of orange juice, Gatorade, or training will prepare you for the horrors you have yet to witness in the ring. You've never experienced a man seasoned and borne of violence like I. Were this any other match, you'd have many more an opportunity for victory, but with limited rules, you shall not find the strength, the will, to do whatever it takes to win."
I find myself repeating the message, perhaps I'm losing my focus, perhaps I'm losing my drive, my monstrosity.
My child, no, you are not. Believe in the blood that flows through your veins, for strength comes from your heritage. You are borne of violence. The mental anguish of your doubts should be your fuel, you cannot let Virginia win.
"I've spat upon graves, John. I've focused my life toward victory. What have you done lately? Have you beaten yourself...your demons? No...you've not done much at all. Nothing close, you're too happy, too good. You need to be brought down to my level, to the level of monsters."
Battle not with monsters, lest you become one yourself. Nietszche was quite a man. An ubermench, and you shall be one yourself. Overcome yourself, to become the heir to the universe.
"You will see, Mr. Barber, what I have in store for you. A briefcase, a cold metal championship, some tacks, a claw of paperclips. You've faced none like me before, and you'll learn, the hard way, just what that means. I'm a monster, bred for the slaughter of the weak. Today you are safe, but on Sunday night, you'll be nothing more than another victim. I am the royal, I am the heir to this federation in the future. You are simply in the way, another face to bash in. Another skull to crack. More blood to spill. And you will face the monster, the PERFECTLY NORMAL monster. Your voice will scream out loud, and in the end...I'll make you."
Silence, quiet the pulse until there is nothing left.
"SHUT UP!"
"Sephiroth, you wanted to meet with me?"
He says nothing, only gestures to the seat. I feel his shadow-hand clinging to my shoulder, forcing me down into the booth and affixing my eyes on his. The air becomes chilled, and a weight presses upon my soul momentarily before a smile crosses his ivory features. He folds his hands as I sit. His long hair flowing down around his face. Sephiroth looks haggard and run down and yet there is something still regal in his nature something almost admirable as he motions. He looks up as I fake a smile at him.
"Hello, Kristoff. I'm sorry I was unavailable this week. I had some... problems. I hope you understand."
Sephiroth raises a glass of red wine as the waitress wofts by dropping a glass of sangria right in front of me.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you I hope that is all right."
Cautiously I sit, focused on the eyes of my partner. I look at the drink suspiciously, cautiously taking a sip before opening my mouth.
"I understand, I too had things to take care of. I had a family issue to deal with, at my mother's grave."
Sephiroth looked oddly at that comment, as though something clicked in his head for a moment, but he sipped his wine and shrugged it off. I continued.
"As you no doubt saw, I was gloating my victories over the one obstacle that was in my life, from childhood. I'd probably have had two obstacles if not for that worthless pile of feces that walked out before I could remember. Not even a photograph of him, no calls, no letters, nothing. Who would ever be so worthless to abandon any child. It infuriates me even thinking of it, as any thoughts of my mother usually leads to."
Seph downed the glass rather quickly grabbing a nearby bottle and pouring once more. His head down face covered in a blanket of hair showing no emotion save for the pouring of wine.
"Now, now, even now that is your mother talking. Focus on the task at hand. Besides, I'm sure he had his reasons."
He sighed and tossed his hair back tossing back his drink again his face sullen. Stubble apparent, he has the look of a man not slept in days. A man troubled by his demons.
"Your mother... tell me about her. What sort of woman was she like?"
A bitch, a control freak, nothing too much to be said about her, really.
"She was too focused on money, work, and having me succeed being "Normal""
Truth, yes, but not the full truth. I wished to kill my own mother before her death. Thank god for Cancer, thank god for a lot of things.
"Virginia Bates, or as everyone around us called her, Virginia B, for Bitch."
Seph suddenly choked a bit on his drink coughing slightly as he looks at his partner in a strange manner like a deer in the headlights. Quickly he taps his chest suddenly as if hit by a sudden bought of a coughing fit. He adjusts his cravat as I look on surprised by the very human response. He looks down at the once white shirt now covered in crimson.
"I... I see. I'm sorry for your loss. Will you excuse me for a moment? I think I need a towel."
He adjourns himself leaving his wallet at the table in his seat. His sudden mannerism one of shock and suspicion. Confused, I look down at the table and see he has left his wallet. I look around, before opening when it is clear. Inside is a picture of myself as a younger man, perhaps no older than 17. Where did he get this? The feeling of his cold shadow-hand on my shoulder is accompanied by the "My Child" in my head. I shake my head, he's obviously obsessed with knowing everything about me, it says nothing about him stalking me for years, right?
_________________
"So here we are, set up to be clashing for the first time, for the last time. I say this, because if this is anything like the last two people I've beaten, you'll fade out from this place as if you never existed in the first place. Mason disappeared, nobody cares about Pooler anymore. It's like I'm some sort of demonic presence, sucking the life out of the very bones of those I defeat. Surely, though, I've had some poor luck lately. Falcon, a few tag matches with Sephiroth who is losing his mind as much as I am. I hate the spotlight he's shown on me, the interviews, the videos, the photo sessions, the ads everywhere. I can't go to the grocery store without seeing my own face on some billboard or bus-stop. And you, you're just a new man, looking to capture your first gold here. You're not ready, John. You're a "Florida Cracker" as you call yourself, a white man trying to be black in a state that is almost as deadly in the wilderness as Australia. Gators, copperheads, the everglades. You live in the land that once held the dark passenger of Dexter, darkly dreaming in our imaginations and on Showtime. And here you are, facing the FIRST EVER Invictus Champion, in your first Invictus rules match. I live by these rules, I..."
My briefcase is brought up from out of view. A sinister smile crosses my face.
"You've never felt the cold steel upon your face, have you? You've never seen the blood cloud your vision, draining your energy with the throbbing of your heart. You never knew fear, unadulterated, unfiltered. I have. I've faced monsters, I've become one. And you, you're still green, like the swamps. You know sunshine, you know love, and you don't understand the amount of pain that this place is willing to give upon a challenge. Mr. Barber, you have so much to learn about the ways of this place, even now, even with your ascension in the ranks and trying to find your foothold, you have yet to find the truth, the place you belong. And I will tell you know, it is NOT where I am. You are NOT Invictus material. So I'd just not show up, for fear of your beautiful features being forever altered by a madman."
My Child, preparing for war. Deliciously verbose, narrating the violence to come. Crimson will spill, and you shall use your focus to overcome.
"I am not, however, writing you off, Barber. It's just that you've not faced a man like me yet. You've not faced a match like this. You'll come in without a single bit of knowledge besides videotapes, the kind I've used to study you. But video of violence with weapons, of Invictus type desires to do ANYTHING to win...those are only borne through the scars you will come to bear after our match at the Viewer's Choice-Named Pay Per View on Sunday night. And you, you'll be giving the viewers their bloodthirst. And their crimson lust shall be quenched, like the lust for victory I'm feeling rise within my veins. It courses, John, because I am feeling underwhelmed by my own victories of late, and this is not the time to falter, to lose the title I've worked so hard, destroyed the lives of men, for. Again, I point you to Mason. I dragged him through the mud, to win the Heavyweight Championship, and he's gone. Disappeared after being completely destroyed by me. I didn't need nails, or a cross. All I needed was my body, and my brilliant mind. I destroyed his will to compete and he is gone, gone for the time being and hopefully forever. And Pooler, he's suffered since losing to me. You see, he held that Cruiserweight title like it would NEVER leave him, but when it did, it took something with it, part of his soul. And now you, the bright, shining new face around these parts. From the sunshine state, and I reside in Sunnyvale. Sun vs Sun, but you'll be the weaker of the two. No amount of orange juice, Gatorade, or training will prepare you for the horrors you have yet to witness in the ring. You've never experienced a man seasoned and borne of violence like I. Were this any other match, you'd have many more an opportunity for victory, but with limited rules, you shall not find the strength, the will, to do whatever it takes to win."
I find myself repeating the message, perhaps I'm losing my focus, perhaps I'm losing my drive, my monstrosity.
My child, no, you are not. Believe in the blood that flows through your veins, for strength comes from your heritage. You are borne of violence. The mental anguish of your doubts should be your fuel, you cannot let Virginia win.
"I've spat upon graves, John. I've focused my life toward victory. What have you done lately? Have you beaten yourself...your demons? No...you've not done much at all. Nothing close, you're too happy, too good. You need to be brought down to my level, to the level of monsters."
Battle not with monsters, lest you become one yourself. Nietszche was quite a man. An ubermench, and you shall be one yourself. Overcome yourself, to become the heir to the universe.
"You will see, Mr. Barber, what I have in store for you. A briefcase, a cold metal championship, some tacks, a claw of paperclips. You've faced none like me before, and you'll learn, the hard way, just what that means. I'm a monster, bred for the slaughter of the weak. Today you are safe, but on Sunday night, you'll be nothing more than another victim. I am the royal, I am the heir to this federation in the future. You are simply in the way, another face to bash in. Another skull to crack. More blood to spill. And you will face the monster, the PERFECTLY NORMAL monster. Your voice will scream out loud, and in the end...I'll make you."
Silence, quiet the pulse until there is nothing left.
"SHUT UP!"
Well howdy there pardner.