Post by Talon on Mar 26, 2016 20:18:11 GMT -6
The actue slapping sound of flesh striking flesh, of muscular figures being driven against padded firmament, the heavy breaths and grunts of impassioned exertions. Just another day in the Compound, the home base of the Horsewomen of Chaos. This is the euphony of sweet destruction that greets the senses of the viewers as the scene unfolds.
Talon, the Horsewoman Fury, stands at the boundary of the circle drawn upon the thick athletic man spread across the training center floor. Her deep red hair is pulled back and wrapped into a bun to keep it out of the way, darkened by perspiration. Her pale Irish flesh glistens from the same source, which has seeped into her black-and-crimson sports bra and shorts, her hands and feet taped in black for this particular workout.
Directly across from her, bedraggled from effort yet no less beautiful in her own way, is the member of the Chosen known as Ophelia. With her sweat-laden auburn hair, full lips and the penetrating stare always coming from her hazel eyes, she's intimidating by default. Before the coming of Talon, she was the largest of the followers of Emma Carlisle. But she is still the most physically proficient. Talon is a fierce fighter, using well her Muay Thai talents, but Ophelia's proficiency in Krav Maga allows her to take down the 6'1" Fury more than she herself is brought low. Each woman, if one looks closely, bears a subtle smile...as if this violent sparring is pleasing.
Off to the side, Sentinel, Silent Destroyer and husband to Talon, watches intently. The monstrous figure of a man stands in stark contrast to the smaller form next to him, that of Emma Carlisle. By all appearances, Death seems to have recovered some from the brutal beating received after Breakthrough, but the added chill to her manner still exists. In spades. It is she, and Sentinel, that we hear speaking over the noises of combat across the way.
"It is not often that someone challenges Ophelia."
"Ren has been a fighter since she came screaming into this world, of that there is no doubt."
All right, so the 'Silent Destroyer' moniker wasn't as true as it used to be. The more interesting question isn't why he's speaking so much of late, but how he's having a conversation with a woman who finds men more detestable as almost anything else. His comment, in fact, draws a small, behind-the-hand laugh from Emma. It actually sounds...nice. For once. If Sentinel is surprised, he gives no indication.
"A woman bespeaking Fury...given the name Serenity. And people have the gall to think me psychotic or otherwise for believing that Chaos is the Universal Truth. She is living proof."
"Hers was a life of tragedy for some time, a trait she shares with many of you."
Any mirth Emma possessed was gone now. She didn't like being reminded of things like that. Especially not from some base male. But somewhere in her fractured mind she knew that the comment was not spoken to give offence. Across from them, Talon gets under Ophelia, narrowly evading being hurled to the mat and coming up with a knee strike that would have blasted Ophelia in the chin had she not lurched forward a little. Instead she took it between the breasts, the air going out of her as she dropped to her hands and knees. Even Emma winced slightly.
"Ophelia is still ahead but that...changed the game."
"Talon and Katalina are facing Jones and Gonsalves, are they not?"
Confusion colors Sentinel's face for a moment, his gray eyes shifting in Emma's direction as Talon gives Opehlia a hand up before they square off again. Ophelia smacks away Talon's strikes, yet the speed at which they arrive is hard to keep up with for her. She twists the leg of Talon and sends her to the mat again but the Angel of Sin kips up quickly and her high roundhouse would have knocked Ophelia sideways if the Chosen member hadn't ducked in a hurry.
"The Neon Babes, actually. Non-title."
Death's lips had parted to ask just that question which Sentinel answered before she might. Her bruised, battered face tightens into a cold, hard mask immediately...just as Ophelia gets under one of Talon's punches and shoulder-throws her to the mat. She doesn't move her arm in time and soon finds herself in an armbar that forces her to tap quickly.
"Miss Carlisle..."
"NO."
The single-word, cutting-off response, is sharp enough that both Opehlia and Talon turn when they hear it. A rare flush rises to Emma's scarred cheek while Sentinel does not react at all. Is it embarrassment or anger, however, that has Emma pause, breathe and speak again?
"...I...apologize."
"Don't. I understand."
"I doubt that."
Smiling thinly, Sentinel gives his attention to Emma for a moment.
"You'd be surprised, Lady Death. If you'll excuse me..."
On reflex Emma might have thought Sentinel was being cocky calling her that, but no disrespect could be found in his tone. Ophelia nods to Sentinel as he approaches yet takes her leave soon after, leaving the half-masked Talon, breathing heavily and soaked with sweat, to step into the arms of her husband.
"You really do like to watch, don't you?"
"I'm your manager and trainer, Ren. I have to watch."
"That is NOT what I asked you, sir."
There was no sarcasm at the word 'sir' being put forth to the Silent Destroyer. It sounded more like affectionate obedience, a strange tone from Talon's lips.
"I like doing a hell of a lot more than watching, sweetness, as you'll find out later."
He nods in the direction of the mats and the path which Ophelia took to depart.
"You improve every session. Soon you'll have to start sparring with me directly again."
"Soon, but not yet. I am not as proficient as I was, nor as strong, training be damned."
"Is that self-loathing I hear?"
A large hand rises, cupping Talon's chin and making the eyes she'd turned elsewhere face Sentinel's. Acidic green stares widely upon stony gray, the man's voice dropping just half a note or so.
"Your progress has been far beyond acceptable. You have acclimated to this group and their mission, been accepted as a sister and one the others might look up to in their own way. And none have yet to add a loss to your record. Do you expect that that means you are failing?"
The direct, firm message gives Ren a rare moment in which she becomes subdued. The strength is still there, noted through the tension in her muscular figure and the setting of her expression. But in her eyes is where Sentinel's force of personality and a certain unspoken sensation and emotion or two has her in a near-thrall.
"I have not failed. I am the Fury. There is either acceptance or destruction where my hand sweeps across the land and its people."
"And?"
A half-smile forms beneath the mask.
"And the tag champions shall be no different."
"Yes. You make me proud."
Talon isn't a woman given to much emotion, at least emotions that are considered positive. Yet in Sentinel's presence, it is a different woman, one on which passion and rage mingle into a concoction few could imbibe and survive the experience.
"That said, we have reservations tonight before our morning departure for the Great White North. I have calls to make, situations to handle."
"And I require...cleansing."
She glances with distaste at her sweaty, dirty body which still looks incredibly desirable despite the effects of battle versus Ophelia.
"Take your time. Indulge. You'll find a gift awaiting when you're done."
Now that got her attention, her red brow lifting, but Sentinel only smiled enigmatically and slipped away, leaving her to wonder. Smirking beneath the half-mask, Talon grabbed her towel from upon the nearby bench as well as her plastic tote full of soaps and such, heading for the showers.
We cut to darkness briefly and return to what we assume is the couple's room within the Compound. The view is a low one, gradually rising to show Talon seated upon a hand-carved oaken chair before a similarly-carved vanity with an oval-shaped mirror. Fury is leaned over, something smoky gray in color within her hands, that much at least visible in the dim, candlelit bedroom. Drawing in her right leg a bit, she begins the process of drawing a silken stocking up her 40-inch-plus leg. Up to mid-thigh it reaches, her hands smoothing out the cloud-soft material before she affixes a clip to the lace atop it. She follows suit with her left leg before sitting up and turning to the mirror.
Only at this point are we viewing her properly, and in a rare moment for her mask is not in place. Her features aren't quite within the realm of delicate, but they are smooth and pronounced in the same fashion. Some smart-ass might call it a resting bitch face if they weren't fond of their teeth, but the simple fact was that Talon didn't smile very much and, thus, her facial features were quite smooth. Her red hair fell in rich waves over her half-clothed shoulders, her body clothed in a striking gray dress of a decidedly-Gothic design, the front lifted in the center, showing off her legs to excellent effect.
She crosses one over the other, a soft swish of a noise coming from the silk touching together. A small popping sound precludes her lifting an open tube to her mouth, spreading lipstick the color of old blood neatly in place. She purses her lips once, twice, thrice before the cosmetic is evened out to her liking. Glancing at the unseen camera, no doubt held by Luca, via her reflection in the mirror, Talon's expression could only be called stern and focused.
"What Chaos gives, children, it may take away at its whim. The pretty little flower children, clutching tight to their shiny trinkets...must never forget that it was the whim of Death herself who allowed you your opportunity. Chaos all but pressed glory into your young, smooth, unspoiled hands. And now, the immutable, the unpredictable...comes to take it away."
"Your gold is not on the line. Your right to wear it, however, is."
Sentinel melts into view more than he simply enters it. A tailored gray Armani swathed about his towering frame over a black silk shirt, charcoal-colored tie and a silken scarf to match the aforementioned shirt.
"First, Fury and Strife remove your vitality and dignity..."
"...and shortly beyond that, we remove the Twin City Championships."
Walking over to the chair, standing behind it with his heavy, black-gloved hands upon Talon's shoulders, Sentinel stares into the mirror at his wife's reflection. He emanates pride in her and love for her, yet never mitigates the ferocity in his words or posture. Talon, finishing her lashes, sets the mascara down and raises her hands to rest on his, fingers rubbing at the leather sealing his flesh from her touch.
"The dress is lovely by the way, darling."
Sentinel's only response is to smile slightly. Talon, meanwhile, snaps back to point, going from admiring to wrathful in the space of a baby's breath.
"You're victims, Neon Babes. If that was not clear from the moment you laid eyes on the card for Nothing Else Matters then congratulations on your powers of denial. Make no mistake as you hear my words at this moment, however. Suffering is nigh for you. Exquisite, scream-inducing, dream-haunting suffering. In all of their power and influence, Death and War were merciful with you. Katalina will have none of that. Nor will I. Thinking us blowing hot air and trying to scare you, should that be the case, would be a fatal mistake."
Never being one to fool around much with make-up, using only enough to enhance the beauty she already possesses, Talon is already finished with her time in the mirror. She turns to rise, yet Sentinel stays her for a moment, reaching out of sight to retrieve a box which he sets upon the floor as he takes a knee before her. At a simple gesture, Talon placed a silk-sheathed foot on his bent thigh, catching her breath slightly when from the box he produces a heeled red shoe with two straps about the ankle, a black lace overlay and a black bow upon the back.
Without a word he helps slip her foot into the shoe, buckling it into place and proceeding to repeat the process with her other. Fury certainly didn't need the extra couple inches of height, but it would be nice in her mind to not have to be on her toes to kiss her husband for once. These would nearly put her eye to eye with him, just an inch or two shy. The process to some might make Sentinel look subservient to the woman, but those of more open, calculating minds could see his act as not deference but instead an act of honoring her. It is he who speaks first beyond that point, rising to his full height as Talon turns back to the mirror briefly.
"Two dominant forces joined by a powerful cause, like in mind, comparable in ability. Champions the Neon Babes may well be, but a cohesive unit they are not."
"One who can not seem to understand that the times have changed and that Walkmans and crimped hair are no longer in fashion... and the other an entitled princess who think everything in this business needs to be handed to her simply because she grew up with it... pathetic."
"Try fighting for your supper. Try sleeping under bridges. Bust your ass to reach the pinnacle only to have the company crumble around your ears. Then, Nicole, talk to my Angel of Sin about what is OWED."
The leather about his hands creaks as he forms a tight fist with each hand. Black hair pulled back into a taut braid, Sentinel almost looks more intense in a suit than he does in wrestling gear. Talon, however, is ever a marvel of dangerous beauty. She, too, rises to her feet, moving to her manager's side and wrapping her arms around one of his as she addresses her opponents.
"Sadly, one of you is either blissfully ignorant or just plain stupid as you seem to continuously fail to see your partner do some... unsavory things, to get that one up on your opponents. Whether you know or don't, that is still dangerous territory as one day karma will come to bite you in the ass for it. I would advise from trying to pull such acts with myself and my more-than-capable partner as I guarantee you the repercussions will be threefold upon you both.
And why the hostility from our end, children? Because we, myself and Katalina, as well as the rest of this army of Chaos...we're real. There is no hiding behind fads or heredity. Katalina is every bit the dominant lady of lust and power that she professes herself to be. Just as I am a being of sin, pure and simple. We bring the base urges people like you try and hide into the light. We force you to face who and what you truly are, same as War and Death. Often enough you're not ready for that truth. It consumes you. You're burned by your own indecision and fears and left a smoldering husk."
Talon steps back with a sneer of disdain directed at the camera. Sentinel moves to the side, bringing back a black coat near long enough to reach the red heels Talon stands perfectly in. He drapes it around her shoulders, his hands coming to rest upon them after.
"The truth hurts. Ask Parody and Lukas Emery. Ask Owen Gonsalves and Patrick Jones. Ask yourselves when you stagger back to the locker room clutching your straps after Fury and Strife have their way."
"Now, let us get to the match itself. Even if it is non-title, you both best not get lazy on us. Take this match seriously, as though your belts or your lives were on the line. Because if you don't, you will be extremely sorry...and very broken. I do hope once we beat you into the mat, however, we are given a proper title shot as it will be very apparent that we are worthy of it if we can beat you in a non-title match. And in the off-chance we are denied such an opportunity after proving ourselves...I promise you that you will never be able to defend those titles even once.
You'll be sorry you ever met us."
Fury is truly getting fired up as she speaks, yet when Sentinel's hands moved down her clothed arms, she started to relent a little. It seems that in their case, it is the Beast that calms his Beauty.
"And you don't want that. You are creatures of pride, pandering to the masses, craving their praise and attention."
Sentinel's eyes start on Talon but move to the camera.
"The Horsewomen can, and will, take everything from you."
"Straight from the hands of the young and the soft. To those like you who have never slept tasting your own blood, needing an hour just to crawl from your bed after a night of violence between the ropes...you can't begin to fathom the lengths you'd have to go to stop any of us. This is your first taste of gold. I've felt the weight and tasted the shine more times than you've had professional matches here in VoW."
"Straight from the hands of the young and the soft. To those like you who have never slept tasting your own blood, needing an hour just to crawl from your bed after a night of violence between the ropes...you can't begin to fathom the lengths you'd have to go to stop any of us. This is your first taste of gold. I've felt the weight and tasted the shine more times than you've had matches."
"You don't get to stroll into our world and wave your trophies around without consequence. I've fought too long and too hard to allow such a disgrace. And lest we forget, you've seen nothing of the true power of my partner yet. Held back by a powerful aversion, her opponents to this point have been spared. But now? That handicap is gone. Before we are finished, you'll face her on your knees, mashing your lips to the canvas upon which she steps..."
She flashes a predatory smile, beautiful yet frightening. It is enough to make people wish for her mask to be back in place for even a moment.
"...long enough for me to send your heads careening into the cheap seats. Bend to Strife, sacrifice to Fury...and recognize how fragile you, your partnership and your reign truly is."
"They chose poorly, ladies. VoW should have known better than to bring their champions to bear against two women with such...motivation...as my Angel of Sin and her devilish partner."
Talon nods knowingly at this, walking forward with Sentinel following. It would appear that they're near done speaking. The night awaits them along with all the pleasures that it brings.
"And trust me, Fury begets Strife. We're in a perfect symbiosis with one another. We will wash over you remorselessly, a wave of devastation like you wouldn't believe...and in that amalgamation of perfect destruction, you will come to understand why storms are named after people. WE are the storm that shall scour you and the rest from the world that shall be grown from the ashes. You...are fuel for our machine. Sleep well, children."
That said, the couple steps from the room and into the hall, and the moment comes to a dark close.
Talon, the Horsewoman Fury, stands at the boundary of the circle drawn upon the thick athletic man spread across the training center floor. Her deep red hair is pulled back and wrapped into a bun to keep it out of the way, darkened by perspiration. Her pale Irish flesh glistens from the same source, which has seeped into her black-and-crimson sports bra and shorts, her hands and feet taped in black for this particular workout.
Directly across from her, bedraggled from effort yet no less beautiful in her own way, is the member of the Chosen known as Ophelia. With her sweat-laden auburn hair, full lips and the penetrating stare always coming from her hazel eyes, she's intimidating by default. Before the coming of Talon, she was the largest of the followers of Emma Carlisle. But she is still the most physically proficient. Talon is a fierce fighter, using well her Muay Thai talents, but Ophelia's proficiency in Krav Maga allows her to take down the 6'1" Fury more than she herself is brought low. Each woman, if one looks closely, bears a subtle smile...as if this violent sparring is pleasing.
Off to the side, Sentinel, Silent Destroyer and husband to Talon, watches intently. The monstrous figure of a man stands in stark contrast to the smaller form next to him, that of Emma Carlisle. By all appearances, Death seems to have recovered some from the brutal beating received after Breakthrough, but the added chill to her manner still exists. In spades. It is she, and Sentinel, that we hear speaking over the noises of combat across the way.
"It is not often that someone challenges Ophelia."
"Ren has been a fighter since she came screaming into this world, of that there is no doubt."
All right, so the 'Silent Destroyer' moniker wasn't as true as it used to be. The more interesting question isn't why he's speaking so much of late, but how he's having a conversation with a woman who finds men more detestable as almost anything else. His comment, in fact, draws a small, behind-the-hand laugh from Emma. It actually sounds...nice. For once. If Sentinel is surprised, he gives no indication.
"A woman bespeaking Fury...given the name Serenity. And people have the gall to think me psychotic or otherwise for believing that Chaos is the Universal Truth. She is living proof."
"Hers was a life of tragedy for some time, a trait she shares with many of you."
Any mirth Emma possessed was gone now. She didn't like being reminded of things like that. Especially not from some base male. But somewhere in her fractured mind she knew that the comment was not spoken to give offence. Across from them, Talon gets under Ophelia, narrowly evading being hurled to the mat and coming up with a knee strike that would have blasted Ophelia in the chin had she not lurched forward a little. Instead she took it between the breasts, the air going out of her as she dropped to her hands and knees. Even Emma winced slightly.
"Ophelia is still ahead but that...changed the game."
"Talon and Katalina are facing Jones and Gonsalves, are they not?"
Confusion colors Sentinel's face for a moment, his gray eyes shifting in Emma's direction as Talon gives Opehlia a hand up before they square off again. Ophelia smacks away Talon's strikes, yet the speed at which they arrive is hard to keep up with for her. She twists the leg of Talon and sends her to the mat again but the Angel of Sin kips up quickly and her high roundhouse would have knocked Ophelia sideways if the Chosen member hadn't ducked in a hurry.
"The Neon Babes, actually. Non-title."
Death's lips had parted to ask just that question which Sentinel answered before she might. Her bruised, battered face tightens into a cold, hard mask immediately...just as Ophelia gets under one of Talon's punches and shoulder-throws her to the mat. She doesn't move her arm in time and soon finds herself in an armbar that forces her to tap quickly.
"Miss Carlisle..."
"NO."
The single-word, cutting-off response, is sharp enough that both Opehlia and Talon turn when they hear it. A rare flush rises to Emma's scarred cheek while Sentinel does not react at all. Is it embarrassment or anger, however, that has Emma pause, breathe and speak again?
"...I...apologize."
"Don't. I understand."
"I doubt that."
Smiling thinly, Sentinel gives his attention to Emma for a moment.
"You'd be surprised, Lady Death. If you'll excuse me..."
On reflex Emma might have thought Sentinel was being cocky calling her that, but no disrespect could be found in his tone. Ophelia nods to Sentinel as he approaches yet takes her leave soon after, leaving the half-masked Talon, breathing heavily and soaked with sweat, to step into the arms of her husband.
"You really do like to watch, don't you?"
"I'm your manager and trainer, Ren. I have to watch."
"That is NOT what I asked you, sir."
There was no sarcasm at the word 'sir' being put forth to the Silent Destroyer. It sounded more like affectionate obedience, a strange tone from Talon's lips.
"I like doing a hell of a lot more than watching, sweetness, as you'll find out later."
He nods in the direction of the mats and the path which Ophelia took to depart.
"You improve every session. Soon you'll have to start sparring with me directly again."
"Soon, but not yet. I am not as proficient as I was, nor as strong, training be damned."
"Is that self-loathing I hear?"
A large hand rises, cupping Talon's chin and making the eyes she'd turned elsewhere face Sentinel's. Acidic green stares widely upon stony gray, the man's voice dropping just half a note or so.
"Your progress has been far beyond acceptable. You have acclimated to this group and their mission, been accepted as a sister and one the others might look up to in their own way. And none have yet to add a loss to your record. Do you expect that that means you are failing?"
The direct, firm message gives Ren a rare moment in which she becomes subdued. The strength is still there, noted through the tension in her muscular figure and the setting of her expression. But in her eyes is where Sentinel's force of personality and a certain unspoken sensation and emotion or two has her in a near-thrall.
"I have not failed. I am the Fury. There is either acceptance or destruction where my hand sweeps across the land and its people."
"And?"
A half-smile forms beneath the mask.
"And the tag champions shall be no different."
"Yes. You make me proud."
Talon isn't a woman given to much emotion, at least emotions that are considered positive. Yet in Sentinel's presence, it is a different woman, one on which passion and rage mingle into a concoction few could imbibe and survive the experience.
"That said, we have reservations tonight before our morning departure for the Great White North. I have calls to make, situations to handle."
"And I require...cleansing."
She glances with distaste at her sweaty, dirty body which still looks incredibly desirable despite the effects of battle versus Ophelia.
"Take your time. Indulge. You'll find a gift awaiting when you're done."
Now that got her attention, her red brow lifting, but Sentinel only smiled enigmatically and slipped away, leaving her to wonder. Smirking beneath the half-mask, Talon grabbed her towel from upon the nearby bench as well as her plastic tote full of soaps and such, heading for the showers.
We cut to darkness briefly and return to what we assume is the couple's room within the Compound. The view is a low one, gradually rising to show Talon seated upon a hand-carved oaken chair before a similarly-carved vanity with an oval-shaped mirror. Fury is leaned over, something smoky gray in color within her hands, that much at least visible in the dim, candlelit bedroom. Drawing in her right leg a bit, she begins the process of drawing a silken stocking up her 40-inch-plus leg. Up to mid-thigh it reaches, her hands smoothing out the cloud-soft material before she affixes a clip to the lace atop it. She follows suit with her left leg before sitting up and turning to the mirror.
Only at this point are we viewing her properly, and in a rare moment for her mask is not in place. Her features aren't quite within the realm of delicate, but they are smooth and pronounced in the same fashion. Some smart-ass might call it a resting bitch face if they weren't fond of their teeth, but the simple fact was that Talon didn't smile very much and, thus, her facial features were quite smooth. Her red hair fell in rich waves over her half-clothed shoulders, her body clothed in a striking gray dress of a decidedly-Gothic design, the front lifted in the center, showing off her legs to excellent effect.
She crosses one over the other, a soft swish of a noise coming from the silk touching together. A small popping sound precludes her lifting an open tube to her mouth, spreading lipstick the color of old blood neatly in place. She purses her lips once, twice, thrice before the cosmetic is evened out to her liking. Glancing at the unseen camera, no doubt held by Luca, via her reflection in the mirror, Talon's expression could only be called stern and focused.
"What Chaos gives, children, it may take away at its whim. The pretty little flower children, clutching tight to their shiny trinkets...must never forget that it was the whim of Death herself who allowed you your opportunity. Chaos all but pressed glory into your young, smooth, unspoiled hands. And now, the immutable, the unpredictable...comes to take it away."
"Your gold is not on the line. Your right to wear it, however, is."
Sentinel melts into view more than he simply enters it. A tailored gray Armani swathed about his towering frame over a black silk shirt, charcoal-colored tie and a silken scarf to match the aforementioned shirt.
"First, Fury and Strife remove your vitality and dignity..."
"...and shortly beyond that, we remove the Twin City Championships."
Walking over to the chair, standing behind it with his heavy, black-gloved hands upon Talon's shoulders, Sentinel stares into the mirror at his wife's reflection. He emanates pride in her and love for her, yet never mitigates the ferocity in his words or posture. Talon, finishing her lashes, sets the mascara down and raises her hands to rest on his, fingers rubbing at the leather sealing his flesh from her touch.
"The dress is lovely by the way, darling."
Sentinel's only response is to smile slightly. Talon, meanwhile, snaps back to point, going from admiring to wrathful in the space of a baby's breath.
"You're victims, Neon Babes. If that was not clear from the moment you laid eyes on the card for Nothing Else Matters then congratulations on your powers of denial. Make no mistake as you hear my words at this moment, however. Suffering is nigh for you. Exquisite, scream-inducing, dream-haunting suffering. In all of their power and influence, Death and War were merciful with you. Katalina will have none of that. Nor will I. Thinking us blowing hot air and trying to scare you, should that be the case, would be a fatal mistake."
Never being one to fool around much with make-up, using only enough to enhance the beauty she already possesses, Talon is already finished with her time in the mirror. She turns to rise, yet Sentinel stays her for a moment, reaching out of sight to retrieve a box which he sets upon the floor as he takes a knee before her. At a simple gesture, Talon placed a silk-sheathed foot on his bent thigh, catching her breath slightly when from the box he produces a heeled red shoe with two straps about the ankle, a black lace overlay and a black bow upon the back.
Without a word he helps slip her foot into the shoe, buckling it into place and proceeding to repeat the process with her other. Fury certainly didn't need the extra couple inches of height, but it would be nice in her mind to not have to be on her toes to kiss her husband for once. These would nearly put her eye to eye with him, just an inch or two shy. The process to some might make Sentinel look subservient to the woman, but those of more open, calculating minds could see his act as not deference but instead an act of honoring her. It is he who speaks first beyond that point, rising to his full height as Talon turns back to the mirror briefly.
"Two dominant forces joined by a powerful cause, like in mind, comparable in ability. Champions the Neon Babes may well be, but a cohesive unit they are not."
"One who can not seem to understand that the times have changed and that Walkmans and crimped hair are no longer in fashion... and the other an entitled princess who think everything in this business needs to be handed to her simply because she grew up with it... pathetic."
"Try fighting for your supper. Try sleeping under bridges. Bust your ass to reach the pinnacle only to have the company crumble around your ears. Then, Nicole, talk to my Angel of Sin about what is OWED."
The leather about his hands creaks as he forms a tight fist with each hand. Black hair pulled back into a taut braid, Sentinel almost looks more intense in a suit than he does in wrestling gear. Talon, however, is ever a marvel of dangerous beauty. She, too, rises to her feet, moving to her manager's side and wrapping her arms around one of his as she addresses her opponents.
"Sadly, one of you is either blissfully ignorant or just plain stupid as you seem to continuously fail to see your partner do some... unsavory things, to get that one up on your opponents. Whether you know or don't, that is still dangerous territory as one day karma will come to bite you in the ass for it. I would advise from trying to pull such acts with myself and my more-than-capable partner as I guarantee you the repercussions will be threefold upon you both.
And why the hostility from our end, children? Because we, myself and Katalina, as well as the rest of this army of Chaos...we're real. There is no hiding behind fads or heredity. Katalina is every bit the dominant lady of lust and power that she professes herself to be. Just as I am a being of sin, pure and simple. We bring the base urges people like you try and hide into the light. We force you to face who and what you truly are, same as War and Death. Often enough you're not ready for that truth. It consumes you. You're burned by your own indecision and fears and left a smoldering husk."
Talon steps back with a sneer of disdain directed at the camera. Sentinel moves to the side, bringing back a black coat near long enough to reach the red heels Talon stands perfectly in. He drapes it around her shoulders, his hands coming to rest upon them after.
"The truth hurts. Ask Parody and Lukas Emery. Ask Owen Gonsalves and Patrick Jones. Ask yourselves when you stagger back to the locker room clutching your straps after Fury and Strife have their way."
"Now, let us get to the match itself. Even if it is non-title, you both best not get lazy on us. Take this match seriously, as though your belts or your lives were on the line. Because if you don't, you will be extremely sorry...and very broken. I do hope once we beat you into the mat, however, we are given a proper title shot as it will be very apparent that we are worthy of it if we can beat you in a non-title match. And in the off-chance we are denied such an opportunity after proving ourselves...I promise you that you will never be able to defend those titles even once.
You'll be sorry you ever met us."
Fury is truly getting fired up as she speaks, yet when Sentinel's hands moved down her clothed arms, she started to relent a little. It seems that in their case, it is the Beast that calms his Beauty.
"And you don't want that. You are creatures of pride, pandering to the masses, craving their praise and attention."
Sentinel's eyes start on Talon but move to the camera.
"The Horsewomen can, and will, take everything from you."
"Straight from the hands of the young and the soft. To those like you who have never slept tasting your own blood, needing an hour just to crawl from your bed after a night of violence between the ropes...you can't begin to fathom the lengths you'd have to go to stop any of us. This is your first taste of gold. I've felt the weight and tasted the shine more times than you've had professional matches here in VoW."
"Straight from the hands of the young and the soft. To those like you who have never slept tasting your own blood, needing an hour just to crawl from your bed after a night of violence between the ropes...you can't begin to fathom the lengths you'd have to go to stop any of us. This is your first taste of gold. I've felt the weight and tasted the shine more times than you've had matches."
"You don't get to stroll into our world and wave your trophies around without consequence. I've fought too long and too hard to allow such a disgrace. And lest we forget, you've seen nothing of the true power of my partner yet. Held back by a powerful aversion, her opponents to this point have been spared. But now? That handicap is gone. Before we are finished, you'll face her on your knees, mashing your lips to the canvas upon which she steps..."
She flashes a predatory smile, beautiful yet frightening. It is enough to make people wish for her mask to be back in place for even a moment.
"...long enough for me to send your heads careening into the cheap seats. Bend to Strife, sacrifice to Fury...and recognize how fragile you, your partnership and your reign truly is."
"They chose poorly, ladies. VoW should have known better than to bring their champions to bear against two women with such...motivation...as my Angel of Sin and her devilish partner."
Talon nods knowingly at this, walking forward with Sentinel following. It would appear that they're near done speaking. The night awaits them along with all the pleasures that it brings.
"And trust me, Fury begets Strife. We're in a perfect symbiosis with one another. We will wash over you remorselessly, a wave of devastation like you wouldn't believe...and in that amalgamation of perfect destruction, you will come to understand why storms are named after people. WE are the storm that shall scour you and the rest from the world that shall be grown from the ashes. You...are fuel for our machine. Sleep well, children."
That said, the couple steps from the room and into the hall, and the moment comes to a dark close.