Post by Finn Whelan on Mar 30, 2017 23:02:23 GMT
ooc: Hey all! Word Count Tools says its 2462, proboards says its 2492, soooo I'm just going to post. I'll be updating my feedback archive here soon with some of the roleplays I did for SCUV, which has a somewhat concurrent storyline for Finn. This piece can standalone, but it also can fit with the lead-in from my last roleplay at SCUV, which I'll link to in the archive. Thanks so much for the opportunity! I'm stoked for this match.
••••March 18th, 2017
Forgive me father, for I have sinned . . .
Rain pelts down from the sky above, a sign of cleansing and renewal. It’s late at night, and like all night related activities, the clearing of a small area in the state park surrounding the Hudson River contains everything filled with degeneracy and deceit. Parked as if meant to block the road is a black Toyota sedan, idling as it waits for its driver to return and take it back out onto the paved roads in the backwoods of New York. On the opposite side close to the embankment, with the engine off and nose pointed towards the water, sat a car of unknown make or model, its engine off.
“What the fuck?!”
Finn’s voice echoes into the forest, filled with rage and disquiet. He paces back and forth in the clearing, his hands lifted to his forehead and his eyes wide as he stares at the ground in front of him. Blood streams down his face with help from the rain from a cut at his left temple, just next to his eye. A bloody lip accompanies that. A fight had taken place, it was clear, but the outcome was not expected. He was in panic mode, which rarely, if ever happens for Finn. He’s a calm, focused individual, and to have him unnerved as he was signaled a situation of dire circumstance.
“Calm down.” Kei snorts, leaning against the black Toyota with an ease in his stance that contrasted completely with Finn’s panic. His arms were crossed as he stared into the center of the clearing, calmer than the sea breeze on a windless day.
Finn approached him angrily, his converse shoes making heavy imprints in the mud. “Calm down? Calm down? What the--”
Before he knew it, Finn found himself pinned to the car, face-forward, his arm wrenched behind him and upwards in an armbar. He hissed in pain, clenching his eyes shut. He’d forgotten that Kei was, in many ways, an older version of himself, but much more experienced in the ways of shutting down a situation. He’d probably not even broken into any form of sweat, and probably wasn’t putting any pressure on him at all, though it felt like it. Could Finn break it? Probably. They’d practiced this more recently during training sessions, but he knew better. He didn’t want his arm out of his socket. Not now. Not when he was booked at So-Cal, not when he was just on the verge of being able to face off for the Rising Phoenix title.
It’s been . . . never, since my last confession, but I felt the need to come anyway.
“Calm. The fuck. Down.” Kei repeated, close to Finn’s ear. Once he’d relaxed, Kei released Finn from the armbar, shoving him into the car as he pushed off from him. “And remember your place here.”
“I’d like to remind you that I’m not part of your syndicate.” Finn grumbled.
Kei ignored him, leaning down to what was likely the very thing that was freaking his protege out. A man, or what was seemingly a man, laid face forward in the ground. A blonde wig, expensive human hair, laid a couple of feet away from the un-moving body. He was dressed in a sequined, decorative top and a pair of tight fitting pants. A stiletto heel had been knocked off. Quite clearly, it was a drag queen, and an either unconscious or utterly devoid of life one at that. With very little interest, and a latex glove already on his hand, the Japanese man pressed two fingers to the carotid artery at his neck.
Finn ran a hand through his hair, taking the plastered strands of black and brushing them off his face as he looked down at his mentor and the body. When Kei’d said that they had things to do, he assumed it was another intimidation meeting to a man who refused to pay up to his mentor. He didn’t expect it to end up this way.
They’d arrived what seemed like ages ago, but truthfully, it was around fifteen minutes prior to the drop site. He’d questioned it when his mentor turned the car just enough that the opposite car would have difficulties getting away. He’d questioned it when Kei said to be on guard. He’d questioned it when the two individuals standing at the opposite side of the clearing had their arms crossed. He should have questioned it further, particularly as he’d gotten out of the car and shut the door behind him.
“Anata wa gaikoku hito o tsurete kita nodesu ka?” The elder man of the two had asked, laughing lightly to himself, but Finn had virtually no idea what he said. But it didn’t matter, because apparently Kei did, and he didn’t smile in response.
“Anata no kuchi o miru. Kodomo wa anata no shibōdearu koto ga dekiru.” He’d replied. “Do you have the goods?”
“Do you have the money?”
Kei’d snorted.
I think I’m in some shit that I’m not sure I should participate in.
And from there, it’d just gone south. After a few more phrases exchanged, Finn was suddenly aware that the Bad Bitch from the Bronx -- he/she’d titled themselves that -- had a switchblade and Kei was defending himself from it. He’d launched into action, darting forward and connecting his knee to Triple-B’s gut. In shock, he/she’d dropped the knife, but in return, swiped upwards and connected with Finn’s face. His watch had taken a slice of Finn’s skin with it as well, causing the gash by his eye. He saw red, and it wasn’t just because blood was coating his eye. He narrowed his eyes and lunged at the man.
There was a squabble, and a commotion, and the Irish-American was pretty sure he’d taken Triple-B’s head and rammed it into the car door a couple of times, before pushing her/him away as they fell to the ground. And then there was no more.
That’s when the panic set in.
This wasn’t a wrestling arena, and it wasn’t a match. His opponents usually got up, but Triple-B wasn’t moving, and Finn was suddenly afraid that something had gone terribly wrong. By this time, Kei’d subdued the other man -- Frankie was his name -- and was tying his hands in front of him, grabbing his car keys.
“He . . . she . . . it’s still alive.” Kei told Finn, rising up and looking at his protege. “I’ll take care of this; you just get the shit in the back of the car.”
Relieved, he didn’t even bother to question his mentor, and caught the keys mid-air as he headed for the car. Again, he didn’t question as he opened the trunk, just looked at the several black bags inside with wide eyes. He didn’t know what was in there, and he wasn’t even sure he was supposed to know. Had he’d been in the right frame of investigative mind, he would have found black market weapons, but he wasn’t focused on that right now. Metal clanked together as he lifted the bags and carried them over to their Toyota, shoving each and every single one of those bags into the back of the vehicle.
By the time he’d returned, Kei had the muddy drag queen seated back in the car, a seat belt propping them up. “Transferred.” He said, watching as the Japanese man slammed the door shut and walked around the front of the car.
“Good.” Kei murmured, his focus set on the last man.
Frankie was a portly little man, an accountant by trade. He was forty-something, and likely only involved because he was actually one of the members of Kei’s syndicate. He was shouting something, but whatever it was came out muffled and incoherent. Kei grabbed the man by his short haircut and pulled him to his feet.
“Did you really think that was going to work, Yimusa?” He growled, forcing him to the car door. “Open that shit.”
Finn did as asked. There were many things in life that he would do, but standing up to Kei when he was in one of his moods wasn’t one of them. He knew that psychotic mess that he was, and his history. As calm and cool as he seemed on most occasions, it didn’t mean that he hadn’t been to prison, hadn’t been “exonerated”, and hadn’t been dealing with one of the more underground groups of the Yakuza in the past three years.
Kei thrust the man into the vehicle, and buckled his belt for him. “Go back to the car.”
Again, he did as asked, sliding into the vehicle a second later. From this view, he could only see as Kei slammed the door, and reached in through the window, telling the man something. He couldn’t hear it, what with the thundering rain on the roof of the car, but he knew it was likely something that he didn’t want to hear. The car began to roll, slowly, towards the embankment, and then as if something pressed heavy onto the gas pedal, the car emerged itself into the water. Finn’s eyes went even more wide than they had been moments before.
When Kei returned to the vehicle and sat himself down in the driver’s seat, he rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes as he removed his gloves. “The window was open.” Finn mentioned. He wasn’t surprised, honestly, at what Kei was doing. He just never imagined he would be privy to the violence himself.
I’m telling you because I can’t tell anyone else. So say a prayer, or do whatever the fuck it is you do to save souls, because I think mine is headed for Hell.
“I know.” Unperturbed, Kei shrugged his shoulders.
“What if he unbuckles the belt and swims out?” Finn questioned, as his mentor began to drive off.
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Kei looked over at him, with the same eyes he’d felt he’d just had before: ones filled with murderous intent.
“I slit his throat.”••••
Ever since I've arrived in Phoenix, I know I've been a strong presence -- stronger than some, weaker than others. This is a cycle that continues and continues as we go through this sport, for each and every single one of us. We all have ups and downs. A while back, before the Iron King tournament took place, before the Duos tournament was going to happen, I earned the opportunity to face off against the virtually unstoppable Rising Phoenix champion. From day one, when she defeated Jackson and Veronica Valiant at Winter Warfare to gain the championship and have it in her possession, Anastasia Starling has held onto that title, and hasn't lost it and defended against every single person who contends for it. From Faith last week to . . .
Wait . . .
. . . Faith was your only successful defense of the title. Now, I'm not trying to imply that you've not done what you said you would do. Look at your rise to glory in the Iron King Tournament. You faced off against Aurora, and while you didn't win that match, it didn't mean that we all didn't sit back and watch as you fought valiantly against who was considered the top of the top for your place. I have massive amounts of respect for you, Ana. No one stepping into the ring should see you as anything less than a legitimate threat. I've been waiting for the moment when this match would actually take place. Two months it's been since I won this contendership, and had I not had the show off last Redemption, I would have been your opponent, not Faith.
While you should know that I respect you, and that this match will be a highlight of my career so far, I would hope that you give me the same respect. No, I'm not saying that in any way shape, or form, that you're required to give me respect because of who I am, because frankly, who am I? Right now, I'm just some low class scrub who, as Faith put it so aptly, wears arrogance on his sleeve. I've been knocked down, I won't lie. But think about it: up until Redemption 104, I was undefeated in this company. I lost to Masaru, and honestly, that was my own fault. At The Awakening, I wasn't the one who was pinned. I fought, and I did what I wanted to do. A loss is fine, because you figure out where your failures lie, and you rise . . . just like a Phoenix.
I'm not going to come out and say that I'm going to beat you. That would be pride in full, and despite the image placed out there, I'm not an arrogant fuckhole who thinks they're unstoppable. When I actually respect the person I'm facing, I tend to humble myself verbally. But I can tell you, right here, right now, that I'm not going to become humble in the ring. I'm going to do what I always do, and that includes everything in my power to succeed. If that means a boot to the head, smashing it into the floor, I'll do that. If it means getting beaten down, I will endure until I can find the upper hand. I'm not Faith. I'm not Jackson. I'm not Veronica Valiant. I'm not anyone you've faced in the Iron King Tournament. I'm me, and me is going to give you the best he's got. And if that best I've got happens to succeed and get your shoulders to the mat for the three-count, I'm going to hold that championship high, because it'll be a symbol. A message. The kid who looks nothing like a wrestler, who acts nothing like a wrestler, can do it too.
Come Redemption 106, I hope you're ready for this match up. I won't be alone; I'll have my family there at the ring and I can assure you that she's not there to interfere. Elena knows how pissed I would be if she did. I invite you to bring Sophie, as well. I can promise you that this is going to be a match that the Phoenix Wrestling fans are not going to use to get popcorn. They're going to be anticipating the next hit, the next grapple, the next attempt to beat down the other, all the while hanging off the edge of their seats. It'll be an epic match.
I look forward to seeing you in the ring, Anastasia. And trust me, I'll be prepared.
