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Syren vs. The Redeemer; Special Challenge Match
Topic Started: Dec 18 2011, 08:09 PM (150 Views)
Mr. D
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The SCW Owner and Leader of the Nation of Moderation
[ *  *  * ]
Syren vs. The Redeemer
Special Challenge Match

2 RP per person
5 PM EST Thursday, December 29, 2011
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Syren
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So Totally Awesome!
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Decided since it was Christmas time I'd write a Christmas related piece with Zoe, which includes various elements of a few different story arcs from this year (her relationship with her father, her religion, her relationship with her step-daughter and her relationship with the special guest star, used with permission, Mr Lucas Knight). On top of that though this also starts another mini-arc that will be dealt with in the next few RPs.

As always the scene is off-camera and the shoot is available also on Zoe's blog, just click the link above it.

Enjoy!

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The Syren Song: Verse 112
“Her face is an abomination”
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megaron
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So it goes.
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OOC: The first part is off-camera, since it's a journal entry. Kind of a 'catching up' portion. Everything after [REC] is the promo, which I've edited tirelessly. I hope that you enjoy it, and that it wasn't too ranty. Good luck to Syren!

---

[align=center]An excerpt from the journal of The Redeemer:[/align]

[align=right]12/20/2011[/align]

The blood of my code has long since dried.

It was a cold December night. They don't make them any other way around here. I've been a gun for hire for as long as I can remember. The Masters of Armageddon, the Outkasts, and about fifteen other mealy-mouthed groups have hired me to take care of their problems. Some, more quietly than others. After what happened with the Order of Chaos, I promised that I would never use my strength for evil again.

I wrote my code of honour. On it, it said that I would keep my promises, destroy my enemies, and – most importantly – help those who need it.

I planned to help others see the brilliance in my code. To raise others to their true potential. To better society, starting at the microscopic level: the SCW.

There's this old saying, “don't let your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash.” A lot of people in the locker room seem ignorant of such advice. I do not count myself among them. When I signed my name on SCW's contract, I did it for one reason: I wanted to send a message to the Order of Chaos. More importantly, I wanted to send a message to Simon Kalis. So I did what I had done for ages: I used guerilla tactics. My goal was to topple the scum-sucking conglomerate known as Infamous. At the helm of Infamous was a man named Lucas Knight, Simon Kalis' long-time friend and a member of the Order of Chaos.

My methods had worked in the past, why shouldn't they work now?

Apparently, I was ignorant. Oh, yes, I did shake things up. There were members of Infamous who were afraid to walk the corridors alone for fear that I would target them. So, one chilly October night, right before my epic showdown with the head honcho himself, Infamous – jumped me. I was in the ring, ready to do battle with Ravyn Taylor. They ambushed me, much as I had done to them during the weeks before.

Everyone remembers the crunch of my bones when Ebdon drove me through the announcer's table with that chair wrapped around my head. I only remember a vague mixture of anger, frustration, and humiliation.

The promise I had made to destroy my enemies had been stalled, if not broken.

When I woke up, I couldn't remember who I was, or why I was looking up at boring ceiling tiles. Why the place smelled like sterility and old people. Why I could hear the steady beeping right next to my ear. Why there were all of these intravenous tubes and wires sticking out of my arms. They had to show me the tape a dozen times before it finally became clear that it wasn't just some random act of violence being perpetrated on some poor, unnamed bastard.

Yes, Infamous certainly did a number on me. But, as Bill Madsen said in
Kill Bill, Vol. 2, “They say the number one killer of old people is retirement. People got 'em a job to do, they tend to live a little longer so they can do it. I've always figured warriors and their enemies share the same relationship.” Unfortunately for Infamous, I've got at least one job to do before my time in the ring is up.

Yes. It was a cold December night when I finally decided to make my return to the SCW. I had been evicted from the halfway house when they deemed me a liability. I guess when you assault enough mental patients, you fall out of favour with the doctors. I had no place to call 'home.' I stayed with a group of people inside of an abandoned house for some time.

I started getting jobs from these gangsters. They wanted me to take social security checks from the elderly. They wanted me to peddle their drugs, and intimidate the meek. But my prime objective was B&Es. That's breaking and entering. One night, I had a family at gunpoint. The assignment was to break into their house their home and take their valuables.

I saw the father, emasculated and sweating bullets. His eyes were full of fear. His wife gripped his cornflower-blue dress shirt. Her eyes were full of hatred. And then, I looked at the little girl who peeked out from behind her mommy's flowing red skirt. Her pretty blue eyes looked up at me, into my soul, and I knew then that what I was doing was wrong. I knew that I couldn't do it. She looked just like my daughter. It wasn't her, but... she looked like her. At least in that moment. And in her eyes, I saw one simple question. I saw it there as clearly as a billboard rising above blank, snowy fields beside an empty stretch of interstate pavement.

“Why?”

She begged me for a reply, an explanation, anything that could tell her why I was in this dishonourable line of work. I told you: All of my life, I've been a hired gun. I've been an enforcer. I've been the one to push the little guys around, and never the one to help them out.

I controlled the women I was with, making them beckon to my every whim without remorse or compassion. I manipulated and used my friends and make them bend to my will by the threat of physical force. I constantly tormented my brother for being an incompetent wrestler to the point where his self-esteem was completely shattered and he hasn't contacted me in years. It was easy. They were all smaller than me in some way.

Just because something is easy doesn't make it right. It's one of those values they preach in every television program aimed at middle class families. Just because something is easy, that doesn't mean that it's right. You see that sentiment in every corner-cutting politician, every sleazy CEO, and every scummy drug dealer.

You're not supposed to see that in someone who is supposed to be saving society. Maybe society isn't what needs to be saved, though. Maybe I'm the one who needs redemption. There's an old saying: “home is where the heart is.” Does that mean, then, that to be without a home is to be without a heart?

I didn't say a word. Time stretched to a stand-still. There were too many questions flooding into my brain. I was right back at the hospital, a deer in the headlights, my mind was hazy and confused. That night, that little girl – all three-feet-none, 50 lbs. – made me do something that I had never done before in my life.

I ran.


-0-0-0-

[align=center]Chapter 6: Dried Blood[/align]

[align=right][REC]
12/28/2011; 20:18 p.m.
Subject: The Redeemer
RE: Syren[/align]


Patsy Cline was a beautiful woman. Her singing can be heard in the background, over a jukebox in this crowded 24-hour diner. Snow is falling and the Redeemer is eating his hot breakfast of home-made pancakes and coffee (two crème, two sugar. None of that “Splenda” crap. Thanks). The staff gives it to him for free because they know his situation, and they sympathize with his plight. Well, 'sympathize' may not be the proper term. After all, a man so physically intimidating – standing almost seven feet tall, weighing almost 300 lbs., dressed in tattered rags and sporting a scruffy beard akin to Grizzly Adams – doesn't need to be charming and charismatic to get what he wants at a generous discount. They call him “sir.” He sips his steaming coffee and smacks his lips.

“There were a lot of things said the last time I was in the SCW. Nasty, spiteful things that weren't really merited by anything. If I could take them all back, then I would, but I can't.”

A lightbulb pops up over his head, and he grins. He laughs under his breath.

“Oh! Oh, wait! You probably think that I'm delivering some sort of mea culpa to Infamous because of the things that I've said, or because of the steps that I've taken to hinder them over the last six months! Well, you couldn't be further from the truth. You see: I'm not apologizing for the things that I've said. I am, however, apologizing to the extended families of Infamous for these things that I cannot change.”

“I'm sorry that I can't control the actions of your loved ones. I can't make Ryan Watson say that he's sorry for the backwards way that he thinks. I can't make Ravyn Taylor send me a regretful letter for the way that she called me a coward. I can't make Pete Ebdon apologize for giving me a concussion. I certainly can't make Lucas Knight ask for forgiveness because of his past sins.”

He takes a sympathetic tone while addressing the people who surround the members of Infamous.

“It's not all bad, though. There is a silver lining to my lack of telepathic abilities.”

He draws an imaginary rectangle, which is traced by a superimposed dotted line. Apparently, his special effects team works pro bono publico. It dissipates into nothingness as his hands fall back to the table.

“You may ask what could be so good about it? After all, if I had my way, your New Year would be greeted by mounting medical bills. Well, that is the silver lining: the majority of Infamous lives in England, so you don't have to worry about paying those exorbitant costs at all! See: it would be a real problem in the States if this happened to you – like it was for me when Pete Ebdon decided to close that chair over my head – but since you're from the good old U.K., it won't cost you a pound, penny, or farthing! Good tidings to you, and Merry Christmas to all! God bless us, every one!”

That familiar smirk crosses his scarred and bearded face. Patsy sings, longing to be back in her baby's arms.

“See: I had a revelation recently. I spent a lot of time recovering in the hospital from my concussion, and I had a lot of time to think. I had a lot of time to read and re-read everything that Infamous has ever said about me. I had time to let it really sink in, I had time to absorb the message, and it made me question myself and my crusade. For a little while, I thought that it was all true: I thought that I couldn't be anything other than a common coward. I hide behind a mask, I strike out whenever the group isn't expecting me... what else could I be, other than a wimp?”

“And then it hit me: I'm not a coward. I'm not a wimp, a chicken, a caitiff, a louse, craven, gutless, or yellow-bellied. All of these are antonyms for what I really am, and that is courageous. For crying out loud, I frequently jumped into the ring and attacked multiple people at once! How many other people do you see intentionally going into a fight where the numbers are stacked against him, just so that he can send a message? I am righteous in my battle against Infamous. You people bully the roster, and assume that because you have numbers that you should be granted anything that you want. You think that you can just corrupt this place because you're tough, and you're mean, and you've got an attitude. Well, boys and girls, there's a new sheriff in town and he isn't going to take your petty complaining for another second.”

Johnny Cash tells his listener to get rhythm when they get the blues. The Redeemer takes a huge chunk out of his pancakes.

“I'm sick and tired of watching you guys at your exuberant parties, knocking back champagne and copulating like the deviants that you are. You are the foul and rotting evil of the world, marked by the fire and brimstone that you scatter in your wake. I am the good and decent of the universe, marked by the black cloth on my back which I would gladly give to another to ensure their warmth and comfort. But let's save the formalities: you can call me 'Karma.'”

“When I was scheduled to face Ravyn Taylor, she told me that I didn't have a reason to fight her, or any of Infamous. She told me that I was just a loony, some loser with a cog loose, and no real motive for attacking Lucas Knight, Pete Ebdon, Ryan Watson, or herself. And finally, she called me boring. She couldn't have been more wrong.”

“My reason for coming here was cleansing the microcosm known as the SCW of the disease known as the Order of Chaos. Initially, I only went after Infamous because of their past association, but the longer that I was around them, I forgot about the Order of Chaos. When I was in the hospital, watching Breakdown, I totally forgot about Simon Kalis. I only saw Lucas Knight and company, bragging about how they had toppled the mighty Redeemer.”

“My objective changed from ending the Order of Chaos once and for all to dismantling Infamous. That's what makes me so damn interesting: I am but one man. I am one person, fighting a battle against a conglomeration of atrocious peoples, without help from anyone else. And though others have come before me, I am more resilient. In case you haven't thought it through, I should still be on the sidelines. Pete Ebdon came so very close to breaking my neck and rendering me paralysed for the rest of my life. That's what the doctors told me. The fact that I'm capable of walking – let alone capable of lifting your leader high above my head and breaking his back over my knee – is nothing short of a bona fide miracle. And if you think that I'm going to let my opportunity to take you out go by the wayside, then you have lost your mind.”

The Rolling Stones play a song about a girl with far away eyes. The Redeemer chews more pancake while considering his words.

“So I issued a challenge to any member of Infamous. Anyone who wanted to take a shot at me was invited to do so. The person that answered my challenge was none other than Zoe 'Syren' Sperling. I know what you're thinking: Redeemer, you're such a big man, why did you accept a challenge from a woman in your return match? Well, let me tell you why.”

“There are a lot of people who are high on Zoe. Adam Sharper says that she's a front-runner for the 2011 'female wrestler of the year.' Why wouldn't he? The first half of 2011 was all Syren, as he put it. January 23: Zoe beats Katie Steward for the Women's title. April 17: Zoe and Ravyn beat Gable Winchester and Stacy Kissinger for the SCW Tag Team titles. I don't need to talk you up, Zoe. There's enough hot air in your lungs to inflate a Zeppelin.”

“Personally? I don't know if I believe the hype. All of your trophies won't amount to a hill of beans when you're in the ring with me because I don't weigh my pride in gold and material things. I weigh them in the marks that I leave on peoples' lives.”

“But you, Zoe, are a woman who could not be from any place other than Malibu. The deviance, the entitled attitude that plagues the teenagers who complain on Twitter about getting a car for Christmas, but no new smart phone. You've even got the overpriced dye-job from some high-end salon with a French name.”

“I read your little web journal entry from earlier today. It was really touching: the way that you said that you have respect for me and everything. What, do you take me for an idiot or something? Like I haven't heard that line a million times before. I know that it's merely a ruse that people use to get on my good side, to make me think that I should take it easy on them. After all, they think that I'm a pretty good guy, right? They look at the way that I move around that ring, even with my enormous stature, and they feel unsure of themselves. They see the way that I toss my opponents around, and they feel the bricks stack up in their pants. You can tell me that you respect me all you want, Zoe, but I know better than to trust a serpent-tongued heathen like yourself. Flattery hasn't worked on me before, and it certainly won't work on me now.”

“You also talked about being such an honourable wrestler, and busting your ass to get here, and – as I've mentioned – you've done many impressive things in your career, but I'm not naïve, Zoe. We all know that without Marina Trent's help, you wouldn't have won the Tag Team belts from Kiss-Chester. Without TJ Johnson's ineptitude, you wouldn't have won the Women's title from Katie Steward. There's a reason why people are saying that you're slowing down lately. The number of stupid mistakes just keeps piling up. I mean come on, Zoe, you lost your Women's title solely because you weren't smart enough to know that intentionally hitting the referee is grounds for disqualification. That's what happens when you're too weak to stand on your own, though. You start to slip up.”

The listless waitress in a boring goldenrod-and-white ensemble refills his coffee while chewing her bubble-gum, open-mouthed. She goes along on her way as the Redeemer frowns and carefully measures how much sugar and crème is necessary to replicate the flavour it held previously.

“Maybe that's why Infamous has decided to send you out as my opponent, Zoe. Maybe Ravyn and Autumn are tired of having to bail you out, while receiving none of the credit for your meteoric rise to glory. Maybe they're the ones hoping that you get hurt, so that Infamous can keep as much gold as it can in its camp. Can't risk you making another stupid mistake and costing them the Tag Team belts, can they? And with the recent addition of Madelyne McTaggart to their ranks... why, your fall from grace is only a question of 'when.' Goodness, what would happen if they were somehow obstructed and couldn't participate in another group effort to paralyse me for the benefit of your record? Would you even be able to bring me down to get the pin without the help of an outside party?”

“I'm not sure that you understand why I'm really here, Zoe. I'm not just here for revenge. Perish the thought. I'm here to teach you and your colleagues a lesson. Win or lose, there is always something to be learned from my matches. Maybe you'll learn that it was wrong for you to kick a proverbial hornet's nest. Maybe you'll learn that it's better to be more wary of shady individuals like Lucas Knight because they're only in it for themselves. Maybe you'll learn that you're actually smaller than your ego previously allowed you to believe. Whatever you learn, remember that when your nerves are crying to your brain for mercy... when those synapses are firing and you experience such pain that your lingual skills are reduced to primal screams of terror and agony... when you begin to ponder your allegiance to your Infamous brethren, just remember that this is for your own good.”

The picture pulls back as the Redeemer sips his coffee and reads his newspaper. The only thing we can hear is Journey's seminal hit, “Don't Stop Believin'” on the jukebox. The screen suddenly cuts to a silent black void.
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Syren
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So Totally Awesome!
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Continuing the festive period, this RP occurs on Christmas Eve and features various characters (Lucas Knight used by permission from Jon, Ryan Watson used by permission from Wasley, and Thomas Watson used by permission from Ash).

The scene, which is off camera, picks up a few days after the last one and continues to address the issue from the end of the previous RP. The shoot is, as always, also on Zoe's blog.

Enjoy!

Also: holy crap, I maxed as Zoe! Yay! I miss the days when this was easy to do. :lol:

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The Syren Song: Verse 113
“It’s really good sex”
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