Unsung.

[Falcon]

{Age is nothing but a number, an old adage said. But time passage is one thing, damage is a whole different animal. Falcon trained, as hard as he ever did, but not as hard as he once could. He worked the bag, silently, but every few moves he had to stop, wincing as some joint or another pained him. He'd intended to go for an hour, but it was much less than that when he stopped, resting his forehead against the bag.

Lost adrift amidst a sea of memories, a thousand places, a thousand faces that had come and gone. A career spanning two decades. Twenty years of violence, hatred, destruction, pushing past the breaking point. The long days on the road and the endless nights in the ring, culminating in everything from praise to dismissal to the slow inexorable march towards the end of the road.

Where he was, and what he was thinking about was shattered by the voice that called out.]

Jane: Are you fucking mental!? He is going to kill you!?

{Jane came in, holding a printed sheet of paper, half crumpled in her hand. The official IWF logo at the top, as well as the logo of the upcoming pay-per-view event gave a pretty good indication of what was contained on the page. Her small hands crunched the form into a ball and it was hurled at him, bouncing off the back of his head.}

Jane: Lord knows what this God of steel stuff is. I mean, he may be ok with this, but you sure as hell aren't ready for it. What do you hope to prove? I thought you didn't care about all that title nonsense and suddenly, here you are.. about to put your own head on the murder block for.. what exactly?

{She waited for a response, then a moment later shook her head, realizing one wasn't coming.}

Jane: You know, I stayed by this whole debacle just to see what would happen. I thought maybe you'd triumph, or you'd break and give up first, and it was interesting to see the bets people placed on it. But you just walk right into the fire, running headlong into someone who was unstable on his best day, not to mention the tragedies.. what the fuck is your end game here? I just want to hear you say it..

{She walked closer, until she was standing right behind him like death's shadow. He didn't even seem to notice she was there, not like he'd never had the experience before.}

Jane: Say it.. say you're just doing this to end your own self inflicted misery...

{The silence was palpable.}

Jane: That's what I thought.. edgelord..

{She took a step back, shaking her head. A slow exhale, head turning to stare out the closest window for a long moment. Falcon finally moved, but only partially, his arm pointing to something that sat on a chair. It took Jane a moment to notice what he was pointing at, and she hefted it up, reading the cover.}

Jane: The art of Bushido? What the hell does this have to do with anything?

{He motioned as if he was grabbing something and pulling it to the side. She took that as a siganl to open the cover. On the inside of the front cover was several japanese characters in black marker. Underneath it, was a translation. She read it aloud.}

Jane: A warrior's path is not often understood, even by others who believe as he does. But a warrior's soul is the conviction to do what he needs done, regardless of who understands, gives permission or stands in the way. ...Gjenrei... So.. what..you're gonna try and drag Spike out of his funk by beating on him? That's what needs to be done...

{Her head sank, and she spit the next words as if in defeat.}

Jane: Sounds like a bunch of manly men bullshit bravado to me.. but you do what you gotta do.. 'Warrior'...

{He turned from the bag, looking over at her. He held up three fingers, paused, and then four. She looked at him for a long moment, then turned to page 34.}

Jane: Those who proclaim the loudest they need no help, need the most help... Yea, thank you Confusious. Any more pearls of wisdom in this book? Like, those who walk the loudest carry big sticks? Or your lucky numbers are 19, 23 and 62?

{She threw the book back down on the place she'd picked it up from. She sat down on the other chair in a huff.}

Jane: Fine. Whatever. Do what you have to do. But if you think for a second that this is necessary, or in any way helpful to you, me, or him, you're more delusional than I thought. Personally, I think he's just going to break you and think nothing of it...

{He turned to look at her. There was a long silence, neither moving or backing down. Then finally, he simply nodded, as if to say 'so be it'. Her face turned into a scowl, lip twitching as though she had a thousand things to say in one explosive torrent of words. But before any of that happened. He turned and left the room, unraveling the tape from his hands.}

There are no words to say anymore. So I hope you'll forgive this for being mercifully brief.

He might have something to say, if he wasn't being a manchild and actually talking, but I don't.

As far as I'm concerned though, I don't know who's being more childish. The God who decides to take out his grief on the people he works with in a massive tantrum instead of seeking help like an adult. Or the foolish bird with delusions of invincibility.

You're both fools.

You're both idiots.

And you deserve each other.

Enjoy.