Post by Rowyn Starr on Jan 19, 2017 18:34:47 GMT
January 17th
San Diego, CA
The victory was a miracle, but Rowyn was feeling anything but miraculous. He just wanted out of the building to the point that he'd not stopped to do any of his personal post-match rituals. He'd save that for the sanctuary of his hotel room. After seeing what Mason Daniels had done, it had taken all of his willpower not to unleash on the closest person he could lay hands on.
This was PW, his home company. This was supposed to be a safe place. But why didn't he feel safe when he first returned? And why didn't he feel safe now?
That question had been answered as soon as he'd left the ring a few minutes ago.
He heard voice of the crowd filled with jeers, screams, obscenities, and vituperation, frenzied and ugly to the point of dementia. He felt as Pandora had when she'd opened a box and was beset by all evils of the world. Everything wrong spewed forth from tongues of madness as they spread their message of hatred, cruelty, and animosity.
Backstage, the sound muffled to a drone of lunacy but that paled to the horrific scene that awaited him. People and staff were going about their business backstage, but they did so leaking a blackish, tarlike substance from every body orifice. The corners of their eyes, nostrils, earlobes, and mouths streamed with steaming, blackish-brown fluids running down shirts, slacks, dresses, skirts, shoes, and boots to roll away on the concrete in liquid tendrils as a nauseating smell of human waste and sulpher climbed into his mouth, down his throat, and roiled his stomach. It took all of Rowyn's will not to throw up as he half-jogged, half-strode in a near state of hysteria to the nearest exit and out into the relief of the cool, salty nighttime air.
It was the people. They seemed friendly enough in the beginning, seeming interested in his welfare. They answered his questions as long as he didn't ask the important ones until they choose not to listen at all and made him guilty for feeling afraid.
It was the way it had always been. Hoping things would be different after grade school, only to see through the illusion in high school, and to experience the terrifying reality in college, knowing that nothing would change despite growing older and one day getting married. He'd never know the answers or people in general to be safe. It was like a rainbow. As soon as he got close to the pot of gold, the end would move father away. It always had. It always would.
He wanted to climb to the tallest building and yell from the rooftops to anyone that would hear him, to counter everything he'd heard and seen. "Don't put off your life! The time you have is precious! Don't give away your trust! You'll never know more than you do now!" he wanted to declare until his voice was hoarse.
It was as clear as the knowledge that tonight, he was finally on his own. Completely. Seeing Dierdra, Mom, Dad, or Crystal would make things easier, but they hadn't been able to help him when he needed them most. Neither had anyone he'd called a friend. There was no reason to assume they ever would again.
For the first time in his life, Rowyn accepted and embraced his lot. It was both an opening up and a loss. He felt love for his family and he was grateful, but he'd never expect them to save him because they couldn't. They were expecting someone to do the same for them.
He was aware that he was crying and wiped his eyes with his left hand. As he moved his hand to see where he was going, a squawk of terror bolted out of his throat and escaped into the night.
On his hand, smeared like mud, was an ichorous, blackish-brown mess. He bowed, looking like a long-haired English butler and puked between his ankles. The mess he regurgitated looked the same.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
January 18th
Los Angeles, CA
The key turned easily into the lock of the apartment door. "Dia!" he called out. "I don't want to talk to-"
He stopped, his brain unable to process what he was seeing. The room was empty, as open as a range under a Montana sky. All the furniture was gone. The amount of space was alarming, yet fascinating as if his eyes had been opened to look at things from a new perspective.
"Dia? DIA!"
Rowyn made his way through the rest of the apartment, crying out his wife's name. He threw the doors open to each room. Each was the same as the living room. Empty, devoid of any type of habitation. No pictures. No carpet. Nothing.
At first, he thought that Mason had gotten Dierdra, too, but it didn't make sense. Crystal's dorm room had been ransacked just like his parents home. Those were chaotic scenes. This was a vanishing as sterile as a hospital operating room.
He checked his phone. Some texts and calls had come in the past few hours, a majority of them from his parents. He already felt guilty about his sister getting involved and his parents had placed part of the blame on him. He checked, screening texts and missed calls. None were from his moy unalii.
Dierdra was gone. Ras and Igido were gone, too. He would be gone too, once he finished what he should have done in Inferno Wrestling.
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January 20th
Sevierville, TN
The thud of his footsteps drummed in Rowyn's ears as he walked through the shadows cast by the headstones and the twilight falling over the graveyard nestled within the east Tennessee foothills. One last stop on his way to avenging his blood through self-sacrifice of everything he was and little of that left.
He slowed his pace as he approached an onyx grave marker that stood out among the white and gray stones in this field of the dead. How many resting places had he visited today? His family. His people. Kasia. This was the last one and one that was the most painful. Kneeling down, he reached out and touched the tombstone. It felt smooth and impersonal under his fingertips.
There was no mask to hide his feelings. This man had been the first one he'd called when he'd gotten word PW had signed him. Even as his career began to take off, he'd managed to hang on to the strong bond of friendship they'd maintained since college. Later, Barry's role would be slightly reduced as Dierdra's place in his life would grow, but it hadn't damaged or destroyed their friendship.
The news came at the turn of last year. A routine dental visit turned up a mass under Barry's tongue. Cancer. The operation took part of Barry's tongue and placed him in speech therapy, but it was already too late even. The malignant entity had already spread to his bone marrow, claiming another mark among millions of victims. He'd wanted to die at home, but his heart gave out, the illness denying him that last moment of dignity.
"I'm glad you're not here to see me with my tail tucked between my legs and how much of a loser I've become," he spoke, not caring a bit to be an Indian out standing in a field of bodies at rest. "You meant so much to me as a friend. Now you're gone, just like everyone else I've ever allowed myself to get close to. And in a few days, I'll be gone, too. Only a memory, if that will remain."
He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to leave a mess on Barry's headstone. He'd shed tears later for his friend. "Goodbye," he spoke, his voice an inaudible whisper. "I'll see you later. Or maybe sooner."
He listlessly walked back to his Pathfinder and climbed in. One last night at home before a meandering drive across the country to Seattle. It wouldn't be a bad place to do what he needed to do.
Like Gatlinburg, it even had its own space needle.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange, faces come out of the rain
When you're strange, no one remembers your name
When you're strange, when you're strange, when you're strange
-The Doors
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Duos Gauntlet qualifier match?
How quickly everyone forgot about what happened earlier this year between Mason Daniels and myself inside a steel cage. How quickly he forgot what happened when he terrorized my family. No one's going to forget what's going to go down at Redemption 104 in Seattle and it sure won't be a win or a loss in a match for inaugural tag team champions.
I'm going to do what I should have done to Mason when I had the chance. End it for both of us.
Had he opened his eyes, I've been ripe as a target since Siberia. Actually, I've been wishing for someone to hurt me badly enough that I couldn't wrestle anymore. Stefan Raab went noble and Johnny Rebel lacked muster. The Warhound has all the tools to end me, but he's taken so many shots to the head that he chooses time and time again to misplace his aggression. It's really bad when I have to remind him that Faith Skylar isn't Rowyn Starr and where that aggression needs to be channeled.
Now he's put his hands on Crystal. My sister. The only person in the world who still gives a damn about the man I used to be.
I was content to just be a loser and be an outsider in PW, but now I have nothing left to lose.
You will not leave that ring alive this time, Mason. It's going to take PW security, every rental cop agency, Seattle PD, King County Sheriff's Department, the Washington State National Guard, and the 82 Airborne Battalion to keep me from getting to you and even that won't be enough to stop me from using two cinderblocks and a candlestick to plaster your brains all over that canvas.
Anyone standing between my quarry and me when I appear like a thief in the night in that ring at Redemption will be seen as being a part of Crystal's abduction. Guilty. And guilty blood will spill just the same as Mason's will.
Chris Andrew, you're an up-and-coming talent with ambitions of your own and you earned Arkia Fisk's respect, but the best thing you can do is go find yourself another partner for this gauntlet tournament because it means nothing to me. Toast, you remember what Ron Swat and I did to each other across the pond and I know he loves to fight, but you should find another partner in this tournament for your client's career longevity, if not to win it.
This only has to be between me and Mason, but be prepared to suffer the consequences if anyone wants to turn this into Rowyn Starr vs. The World and make the Paramout Theatre the Roman Colosseum with the sands running red with waves of scarlet.
All I have is one act of vengence. Nothing else is left. Everything is gone. Winning or losing, good or evil, living or dying. They don't exist for me anymore, but it's fitting. I will administer an avenging punishment.
Then I will cease to exist.
San Diego, CA
The victory was a miracle, but Rowyn was feeling anything but miraculous. He just wanted out of the building to the point that he'd not stopped to do any of his personal post-match rituals. He'd save that for the sanctuary of his hotel room. After seeing what Mason Daniels had done, it had taken all of his willpower not to unleash on the closest person he could lay hands on.
This was PW, his home company. This was supposed to be a safe place. But why didn't he feel safe when he first returned? And why didn't he feel safe now?
That question had been answered as soon as he'd left the ring a few minutes ago.
He heard voice of the crowd filled with jeers, screams, obscenities, and vituperation, frenzied and ugly to the point of dementia. He felt as Pandora had when she'd opened a box and was beset by all evils of the world. Everything wrong spewed forth from tongues of madness as they spread their message of hatred, cruelty, and animosity.
Backstage, the sound muffled to a drone of lunacy but that paled to the horrific scene that awaited him. People and staff were going about their business backstage, but they did so leaking a blackish, tarlike substance from every body orifice. The corners of their eyes, nostrils, earlobes, and mouths streamed with steaming, blackish-brown fluids running down shirts, slacks, dresses, skirts, shoes, and boots to roll away on the concrete in liquid tendrils as a nauseating smell of human waste and sulpher climbed into his mouth, down his throat, and roiled his stomach. It took all of Rowyn's will not to throw up as he half-jogged, half-strode in a near state of hysteria to the nearest exit and out into the relief of the cool, salty nighttime air.
It was the people. They seemed friendly enough in the beginning, seeming interested in his welfare. They answered his questions as long as he didn't ask the important ones until they choose not to listen at all and made him guilty for feeling afraid.
It was the way it had always been. Hoping things would be different after grade school, only to see through the illusion in high school, and to experience the terrifying reality in college, knowing that nothing would change despite growing older and one day getting married. He'd never know the answers or people in general to be safe. It was like a rainbow. As soon as he got close to the pot of gold, the end would move father away. It always had. It always would.
He wanted to climb to the tallest building and yell from the rooftops to anyone that would hear him, to counter everything he'd heard and seen. "Don't put off your life! The time you have is precious! Don't give away your trust! You'll never know more than you do now!" he wanted to declare until his voice was hoarse.
It was as clear as the knowledge that tonight, he was finally on his own. Completely. Seeing Dierdra, Mom, Dad, or Crystal would make things easier, but they hadn't been able to help him when he needed them most. Neither had anyone he'd called a friend. There was no reason to assume they ever would again.
For the first time in his life, Rowyn accepted and embraced his lot. It was both an opening up and a loss. He felt love for his family and he was grateful, but he'd never expect them to save him because they couldn't. They were expecting someone to do the same for them.
He was aware that he was crying and wiped his eyes with his left hand. As he moved his hand to see where he was going, a squawk of terror bolted out of his throat and escaped into the night.
On his hand, smeared like mud, was an ichorous, blackish-brown mess. He bowed, looking like a long-haired English butler and puked between his ankles. The mess he regurgitated looked the same.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
January 18th
Los Angeles, CA
The key turned easily into the lock of the apartment door. "Dia!" he called out. "I don't want to talk to-"
He stopped, his brain unable to process what he was seeing. The room was empty, as open as a range under a Montana sky. All the furniture was gone. The amount of space was alarming, yet fascinating as if his eyes had been opened to look at things from a new perspective.
"Dia? DIA!"
Rowyn made his way through the rest of the apartment, crying out his wife's name. He threw the doors open to each room. Each was the same as the living room. Empty, devoid of any type of habitation. No pictures. No carpet. Nothing.
At first, he thought that Mason had gotten Dierdra, too, but it didn't make sense. Crystal's dorm room had been ransacked just like his parents home. Those were chaotic scenes. This was a vanishing as sterile as a hospital operating room.
He checked his phone. Some texts and calls had come in the past few hours, a majority of them from his parents. He already felt guilty about his sister getting involved and his parents had placed part of the blame on him. He checked, screening texts and missed calls. None were from his moy unalii.
Dierdra was gone. Ras and Igido were gone, too. He would be gone too, once he finished what he should have done in Inferno Wrestling.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
January 20th
Sevierville, TN
The thud of his footsteps drummed in Rowyn's ears as he walked through the shadows cast by the headstones and the twilight falling over the graveyard nestled within the east Tennessee foothills. One last stop on his way to avenging his blood through self-sacrifice of everything he was and little of that left.
He slowed his pace as he approached an onyx grave marker that stood out among the white and gray stones in this field of the dead. How many resting places had he visited today? His family. His people. Kasia. This was the last one and one that was the most painful. Kneeling down, he reached out and touched the tombstone. It felt smooth and impersonal under his fingertips.
BARRY RODGERS
December 23, 1985---April 12, 2016
December 23, 1985---April 12, 2016
There was no mask to hide his feelings. This man had been the first one he'd called when he'd gotten word PW had signed him. Even as his career began to take off, he'd managed to hang on to the strong bond of friendship they'd maintained since college. Later, Barry's role would be slightly reduced as Dierdra's place in his life would grow, but it hadn't damaged or destroyed their friendship.
The news came at the turn of last year. A routine dental visit turned up a mass under Barry's tongue. Cancer. The operation took part of Barry's tongue and placed him in speech therapy, but it was already too late even. The malignant entity had already spread to his bone marrow, claiming another mark among millions of victims. He'd wanted to die at home, but his heart gave out, the illness denying him that last moment of dignity.
"I'm glad you're not here to see me with my tail tucked between my legs and how much of a loser I've become," he spoke, not caring a bit to be an Indian out standing in a field of bodies at rest. "You meant so much to me as a friend. Now you're gone, just like everyone else I've ever allowed myself to get close to. And in a few days, I'll be gone, too. Only a memory, if that will remain."
He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to leave a mess on Barry's headstone. He'd shed tears later for his friend. "Goodbye," he spoke, his voice an inaudible whisper. "I'll see you later. Or maybe sooner."
He listlessly walked back to his Pathfinder and climbed in. One last night at home before a meandering drive across the country to Seattle. It wouldn't be a bad place to do what he needed to do.
Like Gatlinburg, it even had its own space needle.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange, faces come out of the rain
When you're strange, no one remembers your name
When you're strange, when you're strange, when you're strange
-The Doors
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Duos Gauntlet qualifier match?
How quickly everyone forgot about what happened earlier this year between Mason Daniels and myself inside a steel cage. How quickly he forgot what happened when he terrorized my family. No one's going to forget what's going to go down at Redemption 104 in Seattle and it sure won't be a win or a loss in a match for inaugural tag team champions.
I'm going to do what I should have done to Mason when I had the chance. End it for both of us.
Had he opened his eyes, I've been ripe as a target since Siberia. Actually, I've been wishing for someone to hurt me badly enough that I couldn't wrestle anymore. Stefan Raab went noble and Johnny Rebel lacked muster. The Warhound has all the tools to end me, but he's taken so many shots to the head that he chooses time and time again to misplace his aggression. It's really bad when I have to remind him that Faith Skylar isn't Rowyn Starr and where that aggression needs to be channeled.
Now he's put his hands on Crystal. My sister. The only person in the world who still gives a damn about the man I used to be.
I was content to just be a loser and be an outsider in PW, but now I have nothing left to lose.
You will not leave that ring alive this time, Mason. It's going to take PW security, every rental cop agency, Seattle PD, King County Sheriff's Department, the Washington State National Guard, and the 82 Airborne Battalion to keep me from getting to you and even that won't be enough to stop me from using two cinderblocks and a candlestick to plaster your brains all over that canvas.
Anyone standing between my quarry and me when I appear like a thief in the night in that ring at Redemption will be seen as being a part of Crystal's abduction. Guilty. And guilty blood will spill just the same as Mason's will.
Chris Andrew, you're an up-and-coming talent with ambitions of your own and you earned Arkia Fisk's respect, but the best thing you can do is go find yourself another partner for this gauntlet tournament because it means nothing to me. Toast, you remember what Ron Swat and I did to each other across the pond and I know he loves to fight, but you should find another partner in this tournament for your client's career longevity, if not to win it.
This only has to be between me and Mason, but be prepared to suffer the consequences if anyone wants to turn this into Rowyn Starr vs. The World and make the Paramout Theatre the Roman Colosseum with the sands running red with waves of scarlet.
All I have is one act of vengence. Nothing else is left. Everything is gone. Winning or losing, good or evil, living or dying. They don't exist for me anymore, but it's fitting. I will administer an avenging punishment.
Then I will cease to exist.