Post by Cyrus Daniels on Jun 13, 2013 18:01:50 GMT
A black fingerless leather glove holds in its palm a memory. A golden lighter from a time hardly remembered.
I love you, Cy. V.
Empty words. A hollow sentiment. It wasn't always that way. Once upon a time the words actually meant something. Once upon a time the sentiment actually fueled him as much as it did the flame he was now trying to ignite. A couple of clicks went unanswered before the lighter finally and reluctantly responded on the third click. Cyrus Daniels was a man who would never be denied what he wanted for very long. He watched the orange flame burst into life, smaller than he had once remembered it, but still it suited his immediate need, and that's the only thing that mattered in life, that his immediate needs were met.
His needs were simple, even primitive by most men's standards but then Cyrus had learned that a decade of incarceration had a remarkable way of simplifying everything and that it was often the simplest things in life that he had found the most pleasurable. Cyrus raised the lighter to the cigarette which hung from his mouth, and prepared himself to enjoy the simple things once more. But the flame had barely kissed the stick, before it was pulled from between his lips.
Cyrus said nothing as his eyes simply narrowed as he stared at Nicole Kingsley.
Nicole: What have I told ya about these things? You promised me you'd stay healthy...
Daniels: And ya promised me you wouldn't bring your work home anymore.
Nicole drops the cigarette on the floor, and crushes it under her foot before she addresses him again.
Nicole: And I haven't. I'm not keeping ya away from these things as your doctor, I'm keeping them away from ya as your girlfriend.
Cyrus almost twitched at the word, he had chosen not to define their relationship, but it seems that she as headstrong and impulsive as she was had made the decision for him.
Daniels: Jesus, Nic...why must ya label everything?
It was then that Nicole spotted the lighter in Cyrus' hand.
Nicole: I swear to God Cy, that better not be what I think it is. It is isn't it? Give it to me...
Nicole then tried to reach for the lighter, but Cyrus grabbed her wrist with his free hand before holding up the lighter to Nicole's face, and as her eyes focused on the inscription, Nicole was reminded of the one person in his life she felt she never had a hope to replace in his heart. His grip on her wrist only tightened as he spoke in a calm, yet firm tone.
Daniels: This...was a birthday present. You of all people should know the importance of gifts after all your brother just had a birthday last week and I don't see you taking back the jacket you bought him.
Cyrus then released her wrist and simply pocketed the lighter in his pants before walking away without another word and Nicole cradled her wrist, with tears in her eyes.
Yes, it was a birthday present but it was a birthday present from a woman Nicole hardly knew, all she knew about the story of the lighter that Cyrus held tightly was that it had been given to him by a woman from his past, and that the memories it held for him were more important than even her. Perhaps this "V", whoever she was, still held Cyrus' heart in the palm of her hand, and yet in spite of knowing that was not nor could ever hope to be his first love, she chose to fight for it, for that is what you do when you really love someone, you fight for it.
Nicole looked down at her wrist and it had begun to show signs of bruising. She then brushed her hair aside and for a brief moment we catch a fleeting glimpse of a bruise on the side of her neck, and as quickly as it appeared, it was obscured behind the blonde curtain of her beautiful hair, once again hidden from the whispers of a judgmental world that would be all too quick to speculate without understanding.
After all, no fight had ever been won without the victory having the bruises to prove it, and Nicole Kingsley was determined to win over Cyrus, to change who he was, to prove he could be free to love again, to prove that he was free to love again, and she would be that love for him, standing strong, proving that she could take it. She could take it all, she would take it all.
Because that's what you do for love...
So this is it, isn't it boys? The end game. The final destination. The culmination of your biggest dreams as team players, yet something is desperately wrong with this picture and no amount of adjusting your sets will fix it. Something sets Stephen and I apart from the other eight men in this match. We're not here to capture a dream or realise a lifelong ambition. We're not here to wrestle for ten pounds of gold and five pounds of leather. If all this was about was a shiny new belt to put around my waist as a fashion accessory to make myself feel important, I'd ask my partner Stephen to go and hunt and kill another Croc so he can send its hide back home for his dear ol' Ma to make me a belt.
Fact is boys, as far as all of ya are concerned, Stephen and I are just two blokes from Oz from the wrong side of the tracks as the Yanks say, we arrived here for the tag team tournament and never left, even when NCW went cactus, we never went home, we never got the hint despite being told by the God Of Xtreme himself that we were nothin' but a couple of worthless stereotypes and how we'd never achieve anythin' like the success he and Rob have had. In paintin' Stephen and I with that brush, Infamous have made some grandiose assumptions about who we are and why we're here. Who says we care about the two of you? Who says we care about replicatin' any of your successes or declarin' ourselves the bewdy tag team in IWF or the world?
We're not here even to avenge our loss against Infamous, NCW is dead, and we're happy to bury that loss with the mass of broken bodies we intend to leave behind. Bodies of giants, bodies of old men, bodies of little rippas, bodies of the honorable and bodies of masked men, bodies of the egocentric, even the bodies of self-proclaimed Gods. We're preapared to watch them all fall and enjoy every moment of it as we introduce you to our world, and just a fraction of the pain and suffering we have endured locked away from civilised society. Bo Langson tried to keep us away, he tried to protect you all and he tried to save his job because he didn't want to give convicted felons a chance. He didn't want the inmates runnin' the system with all the power and prestige of the Tag Team Championships, so for weeks now we've had the odds stacked against us. For weeks now we've had to listen to Infamous tell us all about what they think we do and do not deserve. In all of their self-righteous arrogance, they've appointed themselves judges for an entire division and if there's one thing I cannot stand, its a self-righteous judge who thinks he has the right to take my future away from me.
The Crocodile Hunter and I, we're here to hurt, mostly your bodies, but hey if your sense of ego and pride and reputation is hurt aswell, as we put ya all through more stacks of wood than a lumberyard and introduce ya to more chairs than the Sydney Opera House, we'll just consider it a bonzer night all around and enjoy our little bonus. Let's face it mates, out of all the blokes in this little clusterfuck, Stephen and I are the most disadvantaged, and its not even about in ring experience at this point. We're physically at a slight disadvantage and beklive me when you're six foot eleven and built like a brick shithouse that's a hard admission to make but the fact isf or at least six of ya in this match, your best advantage over us is that neither Stephen nor myself are going to be like rats up a drainpipe when either of us attempt to climb that ladder, and I hope that the best advantage you have will be enough, because if it isn't and ya actually let either of us climb even a few rungs of that ladder, well then, that's all we'll need before our disadvantage is neutralised by our genetic advantages. I say it is only an advantage for six of you because only that Hammer bloke shares our disadvantage and his partner, well he's just old and therefore at a disadvantage all his own, but to hear JackHammer talk he'll probably act like he'll be like a possum up a gum tree 'cos the drongo never got a grasp of even the most basic physics.
But that's okay, we all know that the slower half of the Naturals isn't the best wrestler in this match, that much surprises none of us, but what might surprise ya to learn is that even in a business like this renowned for producing some of the best bullshitters ever, JackHammer isn't even the best of them, no that honour belongs to the very new kids on the block - The James Gang who seem to have developed some fascination with the fact of whether or not my partner can or cannot physically pull off one of his moves despite some clear evidence to the contrary which I'm sure he'll be happy to show ya both first hand come Sunday. Now mates, if it really bothers ya that much, I'm sure if either one of ya wanna ask him, he'll tell ya a wonderful story about how he perfected that move, but personally I've learned its probably best not to question the reflexes of a six foot eight giant who spent time in the Big House for wrestlin' crocs and gators. Somethin' tells me ya won't take my word for it though, and that's fine, neither Stephen nor I have a problem with teachin' some lessons the old fashioned way.
Speakin' of the old fashioned way we also have HonorBound in this match, what is it that they say about no honor among thieves? But that's really been your whole point hasn't it Cable as you run around with your little masked pal, preachin' about virtues that I've never had, believed in or cared about? I'm a criminal, that is all the world sees, that's all the world has ever labelled me as. When it began, it bothered me, I protested my innocence, I insisted that they had it all wrong and nobody believed me, so in time I learned to embrace it. I failed one bloody trial already and I paid the price for it, ya may even see poetry in the fact that the thief had his freedom stolen, but ya should also know that I do not intend to lose another come Sunday.
Cyrus stood in the master bedroom looking out the window, lost in his thoughts. After a few moments he turned away from the window and looked out at the stack of marked boxes and for a moment he wondered if all of this was a mistake. He should have just gone to Russia to make a new start without Stephen, without Nicole, without anyone. That was his plan when NCW closed, but Stephen wanted to stay here in Washington, and so did Nicole. Apparently Stephen was enjoying his new life in America and Nicole was doing well for herself too. In a moment of inspired madness and impulse, Nicole had made the suggestion that they move in together and for some reason he had agreed. Maybe because it sounded good at the time or maybe he just never turned down such an easy opportunity to have sex, whatever it was, here they were in a new apartment, barely moved in and already Cyrus just felt he just didn't belong, he felt that he couldn't be the family man that Nicole wanted or even deserved, all he did was hurt her and she had the bruises to prove it.
Just like Virginia.
Cyrus fished the lighter out of his pocket and held it in the palm of his gloved hand as he stared at the inscription. A memory of his late father's words echoed in his head as he was forced to confront an uncomfortable truth about himself.
"Ya always hurt the ones ya love the most, son..."
It was then that Cyrus Daniels truly hated himself as he turned back to the window and looked out into the wider world...
I love you, Cy. V.
Empty words. A hollow sentiment. It wasn't always that way. Once upon a time the words actually meant something. Once upon a time the sentiment actually fueled him as much as it did the flame he was now trying to ignite. A couple of clicks went unanswered before the lighter finally and reluctantly responded on the third click. Cyrus Daniels was a man who would never be denied what he wanted for very long. He watched the orange flame burst into life, smaller than he had once remembered it, but still it suited his immediate need, and that's the only thing that mattered in life, that his immediate needs were met.
His needs were simple, even primitive by most men's standards but then Cyrus had learned that a decade of incarceration had a remarkable way of simplifying everything and that it was often the simplest things in life that he had found the most pleasurable. Cyrus raised the lighter to the cigarette which hung from his mouth, and prepared himself to enjoy the simple things once more. But the flame had barely kissed the stick, before it was pulled from between his lips.
Cyrus said nothing as his eyes simply narrowed as he stared at Nicole Kingsley.
Nicole: What have I told ya about these things? You promised me you'd stay healthy...
Daniels: And ya promised me you wouldn't bring your work home anymore.
Nicole drops the cigarette on the floor, and crushes it under her foot before she addresses him again.
Nicole: And I haven't. I'm not keeping ya away from these things as your doctor, I'm keeping them away from ya as your girlfriend.
Cyrus almost twitched at the word, he had chosen not to define their relationship, but it seems that she as headstrong and impulsive as she was had made the decision for him.
Daniels: Jesus, Nic...why must ya label everything?
It was then that Nicole spotted the lighter in Cyrus' hand.
Nicole: I swear to God Cy, that better not be what I think it is. It is isn't it? Give it to me...
Nicole then tried to reach for the lighter, but Cyrus grabbed her wrist with his free hand before holding up the lighter to Nicole's face, and as her eyes focused on the inscription, Nicole was reminded of the one person in his life she felt she never had a hope to replace in his heart. His grip on her wrist only tightened as he spoke in a calm, yet firm tone.
Daniels: This...was a birthday present. You of all people should know the importance of gifts after all your brother just had a birthday last week and I don't see you taking back the jacket you bought him.
Cyrus then released her wrist and simply pocketed the lighter in his pants before walking away without another word and Nicole cradled her wrist, with tears in her eyes.
Yes, it was a birthday present but it was a birthday present from a woman Nicole hardly knew, all she knew about the story of the lighter that Cyrus held tightly was that it had been given to him by a woman from his past, and that the memories it held for him were more important than even her. Perhaps this "V", whoever she was, still held Cyrus' heart in the palm of her hand, and yet in spite of knowing that was not nor could ever hope to be his first love, she chose to fight for it, for that is what you do when you really love someone, you fight for it.
Nicole looked down at her wrist and it had begun to show signs of bruising. She then brushed her hair aside and for a brief moment we catch a fleeting glimpse of a bruise on the side of her neck, and as quickly as it appeared, it was obscured behind the blonde curtain of her beautiful hair, once again hidden from the whispers of a judgmental world that would be all too quick to speculate without understanding.
After all, no fight had ever been won without the victory having the bruises to prove it, and Nicole Kingsley was determined to win over Cyrus, to change who he was, to prove he could be free to love again, to prove that he was free to love again, and she would be that love for him, standing strong, proving that she could take it. She could take it all, she would take it all.
Because that's what you do for love...
So this is it, isn't it boys? The end game. The final destination. The culmination of your biggest dreams as team players, yet something is desperately wrong with this picture and no amount of adjusting your sets will fix it. Something sets Stephen and I apart from the other eight men in this match. We're not here to capture a dream or realise a lifelong ambition. We're not here to wrestle for ten pounds of gold and five pounds of leather. If all this was about was a shiny new belt to put around my waist as a fashion accessory to make myself feel important, I'd ask my partner Stephen to go and hunt and kill another Croc so he can send its hide back home for his dear ol' Ma to make me a belt.
Fact is boys, as far as all of ya are concerned, Stephen and I are just two blokes from Oz from the wrong side of the tracks as the Yanks say, we arrived here for the tag team tournament and never left, even when NCW went cactus, we never went home, we never got the hint despite being told by the God Of Xtreme himself that we were nothin' but a couple of worthless stereotypes and how we'd never achieve anythin' like the success he and Rob have had. In paintin' Stephen and I with that brush, Infamous have made some grandiose assumptions about who we are and why we're here. Who says we care about the two of you? Who says we care about replicatin' any of your successes or declarin' ourselves the bewdy tag team in IWF or the world?
We're not here even to avenge our loss against Infamous, NCW is dead, and we're happy to bury that loss with the mass of broken bodies we intend to leave behind. Bodies of giants, bodies of old men, bodies of little rippas, bodies of the honorable and bodies of masked men, bodies of the egocentric, even the bodies of self-proclaimed Gods. We're preapared to watch them all fall and enjoy every moment of it as we introduce you to our world, and just a fraction of the pain and suffering we have endured locked away from civilised society. Bo Langson tried to keep us away, he tried to protect you all and he tried to save his job because he didn't want to give convicted felons a chance. He didn't want the inmates runnin' the system with all the power and prestige of the Tag Team Championships, so for weeks now we've had the odds stacked against us. For weeks now we've had to listen to Infamous tell us all about what they think we do and do not deserve. In all of their self-righteous arrogance, they've appointed themselves judges for an entire division and if there's one thing I cannot stand, its a self-righteous judge who thinks he has the right to take my future away from me.
The Crocodile Hunter and I, we're here to hurt, mostly your bodies, but hey if your sense of ego and pride and reputation is hurt aswell, as we put ya all through more stacks of wood than a lumberyard and introduce ya to more chairs than the Sydney Opera House, we'll just consider it a bonzer night all around and enjoy our little bonus. Let's face it mates, out of all the blokes in this little clusterfuck, Stephen and I are the most disadvantaged, and its not even about in ring experience at this point. We're physically at a slight disadvantage and beklive me when you're six foot eleven and built like a brick shithouse that's a hard admission to make but the fact isf or at least six of ya in this match, your best advantage over us is that neither Stephen nor myself are going to be like rats up a drainpipe when either of us attempt to climb that ladder, and I hope that the best advantage you have will be enough, because if it isn't and ya actually let either of us climb even a few rungs of that ladder, well then, that's all we'll need before our disadvantage is neutralised by our genetic advantages. I say it is only an advantage for six of you because only that Hammer bloke shares our disadvantage and his partner, well he's just old and therefore at a disadvantage all his own, but to hear JackHammer talk he'll probably act like he'll be like a possum up a gum tree 'cos the drongo never got a grasp of even the most basic physics.
But that's okay, we all know that the slower half of the Naturals isn't the best wrestler in this match, that much surprises none of us, but what might surprise ya to learn is that even in a business like this renowned for producing some of the best bullshitters ever, JackHammer isn't even the best of them, no that honour belongs to the very new kids on the block - The James Gang who seem to have developed some fascination with the fact of whether or not my partner can or cannot physically pull off one of his moves despite some clear evidence to the contrary which I'm sure he'll be happy to show ya both first hand come Sunday. Now mates, if it really bothers ya that much, I'm sure if either one of ya wanna ask him, he'll tell ya a wonderful story about how he perfected that move, but personally I've learned its probably best not to question the reflexes of a six foot eight giant who spent time in the Big House for wrestlin' crocs and gators. Somethin' tells me ya won't take my word for it though, and that's fine, neither Stephen nor I have a problem with teachin' some lessons the old fashioned way.
Speakin' of the old fashioned way we also have HonorBound in this match, what is it that they say about no honor among thieves? But that's really been your whole point hasn't it Cable as you run around with your little masked pal, preachin' about virtues that I've never had, believed in or cared about? I'm a criminal, that is all the world sees, that's all the world has ever labelled me as. When it began, it bothered me, I protested my innocence, I insisted that they had it all wrong and nobody believed me, so in time I learned to embrace it. I failed one bloody trial already and I paid the price for it, ya may even see poetry in the fact that the thief had his freedom stolen, but ya should also know that I do not intend to lose another come Sunday.
Cyrus stood in the master bedroom looking out the window, lost in his thoughts. After a few moments he turned away from the window and looked out at the stack of marked boxes and for a moment he wondered if all of this was a mistake. He should have just gone to Russia to make a new start without Stephen, without Nicole, without anyone. That was his plan when NCW closed, but Stephen wanted to stay here in Washington, and so did Nicole. Apparently Stephen was enjoying his new life in America and Nicole was doing well for herself too. In a moment of inspired madness and impulse, Nicole had made the suggestion that they move in together and for some reason he had agreed. Maybe because it sounded good at the time or maybe he just never turned down such an easy opportunity to have sex, whatever it was, here they were in a new apartment, barely moved in and already Cyrus just felt he just didn't belong, he felt that he couldn't be the family man that Nicole wanted or even deserved, all he did was hurt her and she had the bruises to prove it.
Just like Virginia.
Cyrus fished the lighter out of his pocket and held it in the palm of his gloved hand as he stared at the inscription. A memory of his late father's words echoed in his head as he was forced to confront an uncomfortable truth about himself.
"Ya always hurt the ones ya love the most, son..."
It was then that Cyrus Daniels truly hated himself as he turned back to the window and looked out into the wider world...
Well howdy there pardner.