Post by Talon on Jun 11, 2016 22:23:54 GMT -6
By default the monster was giving a wide berth. Not just by patients or visitors, but doctors and nurses as well. Ever since he'd arrived, one of the cops had been watching out of the corner of his eyes and the nurse working the desk constantly snuck cut-eyed gazes while whispering from the corner of her mouths to others passing through her station. The difference was that the cop was waiting with twitchy hands, wondering whether he could take the beast down if shit got real. The nurse was entertaining never-to-be-realized fantasies and spreading them amongst the other single-color-adorned hens milling and staring in their own right. Thing was, none out of the lot even existed where the man in question was concerned. Leaned up against the wall, thick arms folded over a broad chest and his chin resting against said chest, the long-haired Silent Destroyer had his eyes closed behind his shades.
He was here for one thing and one thing only: to support his wife. The myriad doctor's appointments and tests since Breakthrough 43 had left Talon in a snappy mood on her best days. Katie Moicelle's errant dive during their tag match, also including the now-dating Katalina Star and Zahara Matisse, had left the Horsewoman Fury with a righteous bonk on the noggin and an even more righteous goose egg as they found out backstage afterward. It wasn't even that Star went on to fall to Matisse mere minutes after the Zero Gravity Champion and Talon were helped to the back. It was the fact that the biggest and baddest of the Riders of Chaos had had her night ended by the upstart underdog who the world loved to shower with adoration. Put simply, the very thought of it made Talon twitch... and not in a pleasant way.
Sentinel feared nothing and no one. He wasn't called the Silent Destroyer because of his charming personality (he had his moments) or because he had an unquenchable love for life (not even close). It was because he killed with a look, figuratively speaking. Yet on the topic of his wife? Fear crept in. Not so much toward the woman herself but for her well-being. The thoughts were already there; he entertained the idea of inking a contract with VoW for no other purpose than to smear the Zero Gravity Champion like a bug on a windshield at 88 miles per hour.
How long had he been standing there? An hour? Two? More? The sound of the knob turning out of place echoed like a gunshot against his frayed senses. All that the cop, the nurses and all else saw from him, however, was a slow lifting and turning of his head as the white-coated doctor walked out with Talon following. Crimson hair woven into a braid reaching nearly to her ass, Fury's bright green eyes met the shaded, gray stare of her husband and her for-now unmasked features teased a smile. Leather jacket, white tee, tight jeans and ass-kicker boots... apparently a serious check-up at the hospital wasn't an excuse to not look ready to throw down on the first poor soul to cross her path. The doctor knew them both well and looked between the two. Sentinel's attention fell upon the foot-smaller man, giving him an upward nod.
"She's all clear. Enough of the symptoms have gone away that there's no reason they can't clear her to step back into the ring. Now, obviously you'll want to keep tabs..."
A total husband, Sentinel started to tune the man out after the first sentence.
"She's all clear..."
Of course, Doctor Keyes kept going because it was his job. Talon and Sentinel listened, partially out of politeness but mostly because they'd seldom heard anything sweeter. Knowing his patients well, the doctor kept it short and to the point. They were all busy people after all. When he'd said his spiel, Talon offered her hand to him.
"You have our thanks, doctor."
"Anytime, Mrs. Greystone. Just be careful out there, hmm? I don't want to see you two back in here again for a long time."
Yes, the guy was a bit hokey. It came with being Southern. He gave both of them the 'I got my eyes on you' gesture with the two fingers and the eyes and all that noise... something that would earn an eye roll from most. But the message was clear: him not wanting to see them was him wanting them to be healthy.
"We have to spare ourselves your tired jokes somehow."
The retort was cutting but Doctor Keyes just laughed and shook his head. He and Sentinel shook hands for a moment before the massive bastard took his wife by the arm and walked her to the elevator. Once inside, the closing of the doors coincided with the absences of smiles. Talon folded her leather-covered arms beneath her considerable chest and resumed fuming.
"Nine... goddamn... weeks. That wretched gobshite and her pandering antics cost me what will come to nine goddamn WEEKS!"
Leather creaked as Talon clenched it tightly, her polished red nails threatening to damage the material. When her arms fell to her sides Sentinel's head imperceptibly turned in her direction.
"FUCK!"
Her fist came within two inches of the polished metal door before it stopped. Talon growled even as she turned her eyes up those few inches to Sentinel, who had her wrist in a deathgrip. Realizing quickly she wasn't pulling loose until he decided to let go, Talon turned on him and glared up into his shaded eyes. Not out of an anger directed his way, mind you, but pent-up frustration. She seemed to calm a little after a few seconds of silence, yet the moment Sentinel relaxed his fingers she lunged at him. He stepped in, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her firmly against the wall of the elevator. Not a lick of malice existed in his actions in those moments, however. This was his wife and she was angry. He was trying to calm her down, keep her still before she hurt herself.
The doors swished open at that point, leading to a pack of about a half-dozen people getting a look inside the car. Sentinel shot them one soul-crushing glare and jammed his finger into the 'Close Door' button before turning back to Talon.
"No."
"I will NOT have my sisters let down by my inaction! Have you not seen what's gone on the last month and a half?! While we twiddle our thumbs and let the company dictate our future, opportunities and transgressions fly past our faces while the world laughs! We are NOT to be disdained! We will NOT be ignored!"
"Talking like you've done nothing since..."
Talon shrugged hard out of Sentinel's grip, finger hammering into his thick chest angrily.
"Talking?! Standing around and watching others taking up my slack?! Sitting in on a meeting or two?! That's not doing, Dorian! That's fucking participating! It means arse, you hear? The idiots who call what I've been forced to do 'action' are the kinds of lickarses who give out trophies to losers in Little League baseball! I do not participate! I make a fucking impact! I'm Fury for a reason!"
She ranted and she raved, living up to her name more in those several seconds than she had in some time. Sentinel, to his credit, didn't try to quiet or calm her. He might have had she taken another swing at the door or wall, if only to keep her from damaging herself and causing another hiatus. Instead, he let her get it out of her system and waited till she was standing there, chest heaving as her breaths came hard and fast.
"I've already got you booked. You want to come roaring back and make these asswipes know and fear you all over again? You got your chance."
That gets the crimson-haired Horsewoman's attention and her head snaps up, a crimson brow elevated in disbelief. How could he have... what did he...
"A Fatal Four-Way match on the pre-show. I realize that that isn't a grand re-entrance, Ren, but it gets you back into the ring. Plus one of your opponents is someone Joanna has been... courting, I guess? Since she was handed leadership by the rest of you she hasn't let the grass grow under her feet."
Her eyes darting back and forth a bit as she searched her recent memory for a name, perhaps a face, Talon finally gazes back up at Sentinel.
"Datura, right? And the other two?"
A smirk colors the otherwise stony face of the Silent Destroyer.
"Doesn't fucking matter who or what they are. Datura is the challenge here. For better or ill, she's your target. War wants her mettle tested and from the way I hear things, the woman'll probably enjoy everything you smack her with. Obviously you can't ignore these Anderson and Soloke jackasses, but what you CAN do is work with Datura for a minute, cave their skulls in and then put the boots to each other. You get where I'm coming from, baby?"
"That doesn't explain how you knew I'd be cleared today..."
"I didn't."
"So what if the doctor-"
"I'd have found a way to make it happen. It's what I do. I make shit happen. Same as you. So we're going back home, picking up Cheyenne and firing up the bus for a long ride to Malibu. You're gonna spend that time getting your head right so that when we hit the Compound again you're ready to throw Ophelia in the ring and get yourself where you need to be. Sound like a plan?"
Her response is actually pretty simple: she throws her arms around Sentinel's neck and lays a kiss on him would've stopped traffic. What few precious moments the closing of the doors had offered ended seconds after Talon shoved her tongue into her husband's mouth, though, and the doors opened up again much to the irritation and chagrin of the people waiting on the car.
"Oh, for Pete's sake! Can't you two get a room?!"
Sentinel pulls from the kiss if only to lower his shades and fire a gray-eyed stare at the woman who barked out the snark. She shrunk a good three sizes while Talon smirked and threw up a red-tipped middle finger at the lot of them.
"This car's reserved for a special breed, ye bleedin' t'icks. Take a hike."
Pressing their floor button again, Sentinel gave the pedestrians one long stare before picking right up where he and Talon left off. After a brief fade to black, we reopen to a view along the side of Interstate 26. Before too long, a tour bus comes into view, black with red tribal designs along the side. It's an older model obviously, but one that's seen a lot of upgrades and reworks... and a shit-ton of TLC. Near the front, just before the doors, is an image of clustered skulls with badge-like symbols of various shapes branded into the forehead of each. The banner above this logo reads 'Dead Men', while the one below reads 'Nomads'.
Any fan of Sons of Anarchy can understand that layout just fine. That's an MC insignia.
Inside the bus is another matter. Starting at the front we see Sentinel behind the wheel with a pair of earbuds nestled in deep. Whatever he's listening to has his head bobbing a bit but thankfully isn't affecting his ability to focus on the road ahead. A little ways back inside the heavily-modified interior, we see a little girl sitting at a booth on a booster seat, crayons and paper strewn all about the table before her. Dark auburn hair in a ponytail and a smile on her face, she scribbles away happily while singing quietly to herself. Across the aisle, Talon sits on one of the padded benches, arms around her pulled-up left leg, watching the child with a smile.
"What're you drawing for us today, Chey?"
Talon pronounces it 'shy' as she addresses her daughter. The little girl has a fine mix of Irish from her mother and a touch or two of her father's Japanese/Cherokee mix. In fifteen years men will be throwing themselves at her feet, probably because that's where they happened to fall when Sentinel found them staring too long at his little girl. For now, though, she'd have to settle for being nuclear-level cute.
"Daddy and his biking friends. Wanna see?"
"Always."
Rising, dressed in much the same fashion as she'd worn at the hospital, Talon walks the few steps over to the table, a hand on the back of the seat as she peers over at her daughter's work. She was no Jack Kirby, but Cheyenne wielded a fair crayon for her age. It was easy to tell who Sentinel was on the page because he towered over the rest. The other guys, one darker than the rest, one with a bigger smile than the rest, all stood with him while bikes WAY too small (and motor-less) for them sat in a row below. At times it worried Talon that Cheyenne took such interest in what her Daddy did while he wasn't with Talon for wrestling matters, but Sentinel was always careful to be honest with his little girl while only answering her questions to the letter, never beyond.
"Oh, you have to save that one. That's fridge-worthy, little lady."
"Ya really think so? Can I go show daddy?"
"How about we wait till mommy takes the wheel so he doesn't get distracted, hmm? We got a long drive ahead."
"We goin' out to that big ol' building again? Seeing your girlfriends?"
Obviously, Cheyenne didn't mean it in a formal way. The Horsewomen were 'girls' and they were mommy's 'friends'. A child's honesty is a confusing yet beautiful thing. Talon nods with a smile.
"Yes, we are."
At that moment her phone went off to the sound of Halestorm's "Mayhem". Talon patted her right pocket, then fished her phone out.
"Keep on drawing, sweetie. Once mommy is off the phone I'll talk daddy into stopping to get some dinner, okay?"
Nodding and going back to her scribbling happily, Cheyenne is already in her happy place by the time Talon answers the phone.
"Hello? Ah, hello, Joanna."
Walking away from the table and further back into the bus where we can see a couple bunks on either side of the aisle, several cabinets and net-reinforced shelves as well as a decent-sized bathroom, Talon stops before the door at the very back, leaning on the wall next to it. She listens in silence for a few moments, her gaze shifting toward the front of the bus.
"We're actually already on our way out there on our bus. Should be there in a day or so."
Nodding to the response, Talon is quick to offer her own.
"I'll do what I can, but I'm going to need as much training as I can fit in before the show. Should I have Sentinel hang back once we get there? Oh? All right, no problem. See you soon."
Staring at her phone as it switches back to the home screen, Talon smirked to herself.
"Leader lady is up to something, huh? Well, she's not the only one."
Cutting from the bus's interior to the Compound's garage, the place where Sentinel felt most comfortable in the entire building, we see Talon entering through the side door. She's got a white robe draped over her shoulder and is fanning herself slightly as she shuts the door and leans back against it.
"Must even the nights in this state be hot as hell?!"
The question was mostly rhetorical. Over across from her, Sentinel was seated on a low stool and had a toolbox open on the floor next to him. Shirtless, a faded red rag hanging out of his back pocket, jeans and boots... yeah, he looked like he belonged pinned on the wall of some teenage girl's room. That wasn't his intention as he turned the ratchet again and again, making sure his bike was in prime working order, but that's what Talon saw. Her tongue snaked out to lick her lips beneath her half-mask as she unabashedly stared at the man and the way the lights above made the sweat running along his muscles glisten.
"Then again, I suppose the heat has its strong points..."
Either he was too engrossed in his work or he simply didn't hear her. Talon's steps were nonetheless heavy as she wandered right on over to her man, setting her pale hands on his shoulders and doubtlessly grinning under the swath of crimson covering her lower face. He barely reacted when he felt her touch save to sit up a little and lower the wrench. Leaning his head against her midsection, he lifted one of his heavy hands to settle upon hers.
"War all squared away?"
"She seems happy enough. I'm more concerned with you... sitting there all shirtless, dripping with grease and sweat... what ever am I to do with you?"
The big man chuckled with a shake of his head, his other hand coming up to meet Talon's as well.
"Ignore me and get your ass to the ring. Ophelia's been buzzing me every fifteen minutes for the last hour and a half for an update about what the hell you're up to. I think she missed you."
"She can take it up with War. Our mighty leaderess gets what she wants. By the way, have you seen Emma anywhere?"
"No, why?"
"Just a sense of foreboding is all."
That quieted both of them before Sentinel rose, turning to set his hands to his wife's hips.
"Go get changed and hit the ring with Ophelia, baby. Joanna had me call in the Dead Men before you three went out earlier to handle business. Why she couldn't have asked when she called you the other day I don't know, but she's got something lined up for us and I need to... prepare."
Something about how that was worded, how he said it, make Talon's heart clench. But she nodded and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
"Is everything okay?"
"It will be. Worry about getting your regimen going. Friday... we'll get your message to the masses. I'll man the camera this time as I heard Luca talking about having a 'late session' to deal with."
Grabbing his shirt and jacket, Sentinel kissed Talon's brow and pulled on the tee as he headed out the door. She looked after him for several moments before the scene faded out. Cutting back in, presumably on the promised Friday, we're immediately looking at the towering form of Talon as she sits on, of all things, a swing hanging from the thick branch of an oak. It stands to reason that she's somewhere on Compound property but one should never assume where the Horsewomen are concerned. Dressed head to toe in black and crimson, most of it leather, Fury has her arms wrapped around the heavy ropes holding the swing, staring into the distance at the last darkness of night giving way to dawn. The sun has not yet appeared, but already the glow that heralds its arrival is snuffing out the stars one at a time.
Fury is not serene despite her surroundings and the peace of the early morning. Her eyes seem to have a perpetual glare to them, shining even now with just the first vestiges of sunlight peeking up. Sentinel has an excellent view of that as he mans the portable, taking a knee in front of the swing and bringing the camera up at a slight angle to take the Horsewoman in. Without much of a moment to think, much less take a deep breath, Talon unleashes from the get.
"Nine... weeks."
It's an almost girlish gesture, kicking the toe of her right boot in the dirt and causing dust and debris to kick up. From her daughter it would've been cute. But five bucks says even that random gesture... had Talon imagining a skull at her steel-infused, leather-covered toe.
"Soloke, Anderson and Datura can wait their goddamn turns. The conversation regarding this match, if one would call it that, starts when I damn well say it starts. And before any of that, there's another soul whose attention I demand.
YOU, Katie Moicelle."
The gentle swaying that she'd been doing stops and her arms unwind from about the swing's ropes. Bringing gloved hands up and through her wavy red hair, Talon stares right at the camera.
"You cost me over two months in the ring, little girl, and where I come from a person pays their debts. Who did you think you were going to impress? Your tag team partner? Your now ex-fiancee? That precious little blonde interviewer and her ex-husband? My... I just realized all that could happen in two months here. But none of them are the reason for me fully living up to my title right now.
YOU are.
And when you take center stage at Fate of the Gods II, if you think of nothing and no one else, even if you leave that ring unable to remember your brother's or your new girlfriend's name? You had DAMN well better leave with that pretty Zero Gravity Championship around your waist. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned? No one...NO ONE...gets to take that title from you but ME. THAT is the price for your transgression. If you DARE lose that belt before I get to you, I'll be forced to take your health... perhaps more. So whatever you have to do to keep it? You'd better do it. Or else."
Her voice grates a little, so much that it recedes her brogue a bit, to the point where it's almost unnoticeable. Once the epithets are out of her system, however, Talon seems more focused and a little (we emphasize that word) calmer.
"In other words, I am actually telling you to bust your ass properly to keep that gold on your shoulder, in case such a simple directed needed simplification. So, y'know, can you please not fuck that up? I know that may be difficult for you considering the fact you're why I am here, but hey, a woman can hope right?
"I am still trying to figure out how you managed to botch that so spectacularly... but I really don't need to cause myself yet another head injury trying to figure that one out. I mean, come on... you're a goddamn champion, not some bumbling fucking rookie. And don't give me that 'everyone makes mistakes' bullshit. This was far beyond a simple mistake; this was a nine-fucking-week catastrophe."
Her eyes roll a bit from impatient disgust and she gives her head a shake, causing a few long tendrils of crimson to drop from their tenuous perch, hiding part of her face. Blowing one out of the way but having to physically move her hand to shift the rest, Talon moves on to the next point.
"Let it not be known that I cannot put my mind to business despite the infernal anger welling up inside of me, though. Because just when I was about to storm this pay-per-view and start vivisecting plebeians at random... there was the Fatal Four-Way: a fine method for reintroducing Fury to the screaming masses. And if two-thirds of the meatbags I had to share the ring with were worth the lungful of breath it would take to announce them, you might see me crack a smile, mask be damned. But only Datura is really worthy of consideration in my mind and you can thank our dear leader, War, for that. She sees something in you, Datura. It's a something I do not personally see, admittedly, but that's why she rides at the head of our group. In her words, she sees potential in you. Though considering there's been no formal command to spare you, you can expect me to test you beyond the standard mortal limits. Were I in your place, I'd consider that an honor. It means War thinks you might possess the strength to not only survive our revolution as well as this company's destruction and reconstruction, but that you might actually ride with us. Believe me when I say that that is true honor.
So... congratulations. This is still going to fucking hurt."
She got almost genial there for a moment. Almost.
"Now, where it comes to a pair of no-names like Soloke and Anderson, I can sum up what I of them in two words: I don't."
Artfully giving the male half of the match time to choke down that spilling-over spoonful of burnsauce, Talon continues.
"Their records, where they roamed before diving face-first into this company like flaming sacks of shit, whatever titles they may or may not have held... it amounts to exactly fuck-all with me. I'm not seeing specifics right now, you see. At least not where the two of you are concerned. You're vauge, blurry shapes swimming in a red mist. And when those iffy shapes wander too close, I'm going to start swinging until my fist collides with flesh and bone. Then I'm going to dig my fingers in beneath the skin. I'm going to rip and tear until I feel, taste, wallow in blood. Fury, you see, gives rose-colored glasses a whole new definition. When I tell you what I'm going to do, don't be fools and chalk it up to delusion. When you learn how little you actually mean to me and to our mission, don't chalk it up to arrogance. Sure, it's a little random, maybe too heavy-handed for some of the milk drinkers wallowing around in the festering tide pools of this company's lower depths. It certainly doesn't sound very sane. But let me ask you this: how calmly do YOU think when you're angry?
Fury doesn't have an off-switch. I don't do idle. The two of you are bugs against a windshield, a possum under a set of all-weather treads... you're meat. If you're in my way, I'll splatter you. If you dive aside you might escape with fractures and sprains. 'Oh, Fury is too mean and too violent! She has no respect for the feeling of others! She ought to be banned for her violence!' Is that what I can expect to hear should I bother to flip on the television and listen to your drivel? Well, save it. When you saw my name across from yours, the knocking on the door should have been obvious.
Knock, knock! Who's there? An ass-kicking of Biblical proportions. Say that with 'who?' on the end and I'll tear your teeth out with rusty pliers. Get it?"
A more sinister giggle you've never heard, we assure you.
"This... this is what happens when I am forced to go over two months without an outlet. This is the kind of thing that happens when you try to put Fury back in her bottle like some bleached-up genie. And I suppose I should lighten up a little. After all, you three aren't the reason I've been on the shelf for weeks. But... I'm not."
Shrugging, Talon rises from the swing and stretches, a few popping sounds emanating from her back and spine.
"If you want to blame someone, blame Katie Moicelle. Hell, blame God for all the good it will do you. But make no mistake: if you come down to that ring at Fate of the Gods, this is what you're in for. Seventy-three inches and 180 pounds of crimson rage. My sister said it so eloquently, that we're they to whom even gods must answer to when the time comes. That... is so very beautiful. And damn fucking true."
A brief moment of admiration and peace turns so quickly back to the anger that Talon is known for and, at one point, purported to have great control over. That control, one could assume, has temporarily gone by the wayside.
"Whether you like it or not, the three of you are dancing with the enforcer of the Horsewomen. After our Lady Strife fights for a chance at the Case, before Death and War make a run at gold and glory, there will be pain and peril in the ring, courtesy of yours truly. Datura, I expect a lot from you, as do my sisters, but... there is hope. Your mind wavers on a chaotic breeze and your soul is a beautiful, unburdened entity. That, perhaps, is what brought the eyes of Chaos upon you. Again, I cannot claim to know the mind of War. But the more I dwell on it, the more I think I understand. So my offer to you, from my lips and not those of Joanna, is this:
Soloke and Anderson are in our way. They are fodder, meat thrown to hungry predators to distract and nourish. I say we throw them aside and decide how this ends of our own accord. Toss them like trash at the feet of the mob rattling the rafters of the arena as we go to battle. They, you see, can't feed my hunger. Not only can you accomplish such a task... you can survive in the attempt. But... don't answer yet. Show me your response come Fate of the Gods. Let the world know then, and only then. Why? But of course it is to savor the looks of fear and dread on their faces!"
The laughter is forceful enough that its only partially muffled by her mask, yet it contains every bit of the foreboding Talon would hope it does. She turns thoughtful when it fades, though, considering for a moment before finally speaking anew.
"And, really, what more is there to say? Why belabor the point? No, I think from this point until the bell rings it is time for action to do the talking. A feast upon the flesh of fodder before the huntresses clash over the rest of the spoils and then a hunting... a stalking... for my first taste of championship glory in VoW. Yes... the future looks bright... flowing with red and gold."
Sentinel rises, camera still running as he gets an excellent shot of Talon's eyes, the rage and eagerness within them, before the scene cuts to darkness.[/font][/font]
He was here for one thing and one thing only: to support his wife. The myriad doctor's appointments and tests since Breakthrough 43 had left Talon in a snappy mood on her best days. Katie Moicelle's errant dive during their tag match, also including the now-dating Katalina Star and Zahara Matisse, had left the Horsewoman Fury with a righteous bonk on the noggin and an even more righteous goose egg as they found out backstage afterward. It wasn't even that Star went on to fall to Matisse mere minutes after the Zero Gravity Champion and Talon were helped to the back. It was the fact that the biggest and baddest of the Riders of Chaos had had her night ended by the upstart underdog who the world loved to shower with adoration. Put simply, the very thought of it made Talon twitch... and not in a pleasant way.
Sentinel feared nothing and no one. He wasn't called the Silent Destroyer because of his charming personality (he had his moments) or because he had an unquenchable love for life (not even close). It was because he killed with a look, figuratively speaking. Yet on the topic of his wife? Fear crept in. Not so much toward the woman herself but for her well-being. The thoughts were already there; he entertained the idea of inking a contract with VoW for no other purpose than to smear the Zero Gravity Champion like a bug on a windshield at 88 miles per hour.
How long had he been standing there? An hour? Two? More? The sound of the knob turning out of place echoed like a gunshot against his frayed senses. All that the cop, the nurses and all else saw from him, however, was a slow lifting and turning of his head as the white-coated doctor walked out with Talon following. Crimson hair woven into a braid reaching nearly to her ass, Fury's bright green eyes met the shaded, gray stare of her husband and her for-now unmasked features teased a smile. Leather jacket, white tee, tight jeans and ass-kicker boots... apparently a serious check-up at the hospital wasn't an excuse to not look ready to throw down on the first poor soul to cross her path. The doctor knew them both well and looked between the two. Sentinel's attention fell upon the foot-smaller man, giving him an upward nod.
"She's all clear. Enough of the symptoms have gone away that there's no reason they can't clear her to step back into the ring. Now, obviously you'll want to keep tabs..."
A total husband, Sentinel started to tune the man out after the first sentence.
"She's all clear..."
Of course, Doctor Keyes kept going because it was his job. Talon and Sentinel listened, partially out of politeness but mostly because they'd seldom heard anything sweeter. Knowing his patients well, the doctor kept it short and to the point. They were all busy people after all. When he'd said his spiel, Talon offered her hand to him.
"You have our thanks, doctor."
"Anytime, Mrs. Greystone. Just be careful out there, hmm? I don't want to see you two back in here again for a long time."
Yes, the guy was a bit hokey. It came with being Southern. He gave both of them the 'I got my eyes on you' gesture with the two fingers and the eyes and all that noise... something that would earn an eye roll from most. But the message was clear: him not wanting to see them was him wanting them to be healthy.
"We have to spare ourselves your tired jokes somehow."
The retort was cutting but Doctor Keyes just laughed and shook his head. He and Sentinel shook hands for a moment before the massive bastard took his wife by the arm and walked her to the elevator. Once inside, the closing of the doors coincided with the absences of smiles. Talon folded her leather-covered arms beneath her considerable chest and resumed fuming.
"Nine... goddamn... weeks. That wretched gobshite and her pandering antics cost me what will come to nine goddamn WEEKS!"
Leather creaked as Talon clenched it tightly, her polished red nails threatening to damage the material. When her arms fell to her sides Sentinel's head imperceptibly turned in her direction.
"FUCK!"
Her fist came within two inches of the polished metal door before it stopped. Talon growled even as she turned her eyes up those few inches to Sentinel, who had her wrist in a deathgrip. Realizing quickly she wasn't pulling loose until he decided to let go, Talon turned on him and glared up into his shaded eyes. Not out of an anger directed his way, mind you, but pent-up frustration. She seemed to calm a little after a few seconds of silence, yet the moment Sentinel relaxed his fingers she lunged at him. He stepped in, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her firmly against the wall of the elevator. Not a lick of malice existed in his actions in those moments, however. This was his wife and she was angry. He was trying to calm her down, keep her still before she hurt herself.
The doors swished open at that point, leading to a pack of about a half-dozen people getting a look inside the car. Sentinel shot them one soul-crushing glare and jammed his finger into the 'Close Door' button before turning back to Talon.
"No."
"I will NOT have my sisters let down by my inaction! Have you not seen what's gone on the last month and a half?! While we twiddle our thumbs and let the company dictate our future, opportunities and transgressions fly past our faces while the world laughs! We are NOT to be disdained! We will NOT be ignored!"
"Talking like you've done nothing since..."
Talon shrugged hard out of Sentinel's grip, finger hammering into his thick chest angrily.
"Talking?! Standing around and watching others taking up my slack?! Sitting in on a meeting or two?! That's not doing, Dorian! That's fucking participating! It means arse, you hear? The idiots who call what I've been forced to do 'action' are the kinds of lickarses who give out trophies to losers in Little League baseball! I do not participate! I make a fucking impact! I'm Fury for a reason!"
She ranted and she raved, living up to her name more in those several seconds than she had in some time. Sentinel, to his credit, didn't try to quiet or calm her. He might have had she taken another swing at the door or wall, if only to keep her from damaging herself and causing another hiatus. Instead, he let her get it out of her system and waited till she was standing there, chest heaving as her breaths came hard and fast.
"I've already got you booked. You want to come roaring back and make these asswipes know and fear you all over again? You got your chance."
That gets the crimson-haired Horsewoman's attention and her head snaps up, a crimson brow elevated in disbelief. How could he have... what did he...
"A Fatal Four-Way match on the pre-show. I realize that that isn't a grand re-entrance, Ren, but it gets you back into the ring. Plus one of your opponents is someone Joanna has been... courting, I guess? Since she was handed leadership by the rest of you she hasn't let the grass grow under her feet."
Her eyes darting back and forth a bit as she searched her recent memory for a name, perhaps a face, Talon finally gazes back up at Sentinel.
"Datura, right? And the other two?"
A smirk colors the otherwise stony face of the Silent Destroyer.
"Doesn't fucking matter who or what they are. Datura is the challenge here. For better or ill, she's your target. War wants her mettle tested and from the way I hear things, the woman'll probably enjoy everything you smack her with. Obviously you can't ignore these Anderson and Soloke jackasses, but what you CAN do is work with Datura for a minute, cave their skulls in and then put the boots to each other. You get where I'm coming from, baby?"
"That doesn't explain how you knew I'd be cleared today..."
"I didn't."
"So what if the doctor-"
"I'd have found a way to make it happen. It's what I do. I make shit happen. Same as you. So we're going back home, picking up Cheyenne and firing up the bus for a long ride to Malibu. You're gonna spend that time getting your head right so that when we hit the Compound again you're ready to throw Ophelia in the ring and get yourself where you need to be. Sound like a plan?"
Her response is actually pretty simple: she throws her arms around Sentinel's neck and lays a kiss on him would've stopped traffic. What few precious moments the closing of the doors had offered ended seconds after Talon shoved her tongue into her husband's mouth, though, and the doors opened up again much to the irritation and chagrin of the people waiting on the car.
"Oh, for Pete's sake! Can't you two get a room?!"
Sentinel pulls from the kiss if only to lower his shades and fire a gray-eyed stare at the woman who barked out the snark. She shrunk a good three sizes while Talon smirked and threw up a red-tipped middle finger at the lot of them.
"This car's reserved for a special breed, ye bleedin' t'icks. Take a hike."
Pressing their floor button again, Sentinel gave the pedestrians one long stare before picking right up where he and Talon left off. After a brief fade to black, we reopen to a view along the side of Interstate 26. Before too long, a tour bus comes into view, black with red tribal designs along the side. It's an older model obviously, but one that's seen a lot of upgrades and reworks... and a shit-ton of TLC. Near the front, just before the doors, is an image of clustered skulls with badge-like symbols of various shapes branded into the forehead of each. The banner above this logo reads 'Dead Men', while the one below reads 'Nomads'.
Any fan of Sons of Anarchy can understand that layout just fine. That's an MC insignia.
Inside the bus is another matter. Starting at the front we see Sentinel behind the wheel with a pair of earbuds nestled in deep. Whatever he's listening to has his head bobbing a bit but thankfully isn't affecting his ability to focus on the road ahead. A little ways back inside the heavily-modified interior, we see a little girl sitting at a booth on a booster seat, crayons and paper strewn all about the table before her. Dark auburn hair in a ponytail and a smile on her face, she scribbles away happily while singing quietly to herself. Across the aisle, Talon sits on one of the padded benches, arms around her pulled-up left leg, watching the child with a smile.
"What're you drawing for us today, Chey?"
Talon pronounces it 'shy' as she addresses her daughter. The little girl has a fine mix of Irish from her mother and a touch or two of her father's Japanese/Cherokee mix. In fifteen years men will be throwing themselves at her feet, probably because that's where they happened to fall when Sentinel found them staring too long at his little girl. For now, though, she'd have to settle for being nuclear-level cute.
"Daddy and his biking friends. Wanna see?"
"Always."
Rising, dressed in much the same fashion as she'd worn at the hospital, Talon walks the few steps over to the table, a hand on the back of the seat as she peers over at her daughter's work. She was no Jack Kirby, but Cheyenne wielded a fair crayon for her age. It was easy to tell who Sentinel was on the page because he towered over the rest. The other guys, one darker than the rest, one with a bigger smile than the rest, all stood with him while bikes WAY too small (and motor-less) for them sat in a row below. At times it worried Talon that Cheyenne took such interest in what her Daddy did while he wasn't with Talon for wrestling matters, but Sentinel was always careful to be honest with his little girl while only answering her questions to the letter, never beyond.
"Oh, you have to save that one. That's fridge-worthy, little lady."
"Ya really think so? Can I go show daddy?"
"How about we wait till mommy takes the wheel so he doesn't get distracted, hmm? We got a long drive ahead."
"We goin' out to that big ol' building again? Seeing your girlfriends?"
Obviously, Cheyenne didn't mean it in a formal way. The Horsewomen were 'girls' and they were mommy's 'friends'. A child's honesty is a confusing yet beautiful thing. Talon nods with a smile.
"Yes, we are."
At that moment her phone went off to the sound of Halestorm's "Mayhem". Talon patted her right pocket, then fished her phone out.
"Keep on drawing, sweetie. Once mommy is off the phone I'll talk daddy into stopping to get some dinner, okay?"
Nodding and going back to her scribbling happily, Cheyenne is already in her happy place by the time Talon answers the phone.
"Hello? Ah, hello, Joanna."
Walking away from the table and further back into the bus where we can see a couple bunks on either side of the aisle, several cabinets and net-reinforced shelves as well as a decent-sized bathroom, Talon stops before the door at the very back, leaning on the wall next to it. She listens in silence for a few moments, her gaze shifting toward the front of the bus.
"We're actually already on our way out there on our bus. Should be there in a day or so."
Nodding to the response, Talon is quick to offer her own.
"I'll do what I can, but I'm going to need as much training as I can fit in before the show. Should I have Sentinel hang back once we get there? Oh? All right, no problem. See you soon."
Staring at her phone as it switches back to the home screen, Talon smirked to herself.
"Leader lady is up to something, huh? Well, she's not the only one."
Cutting from the bus's interior to the Compound's garage, the place where Sentinel felt most comfortable in the entire building, we see Talon entering through the side door. She's got a white robe draped over her shoulder and is fanning herself slightly as she shuts the door and leans back against it.
"Must even the nights in this state be hot as hell?!"
The question was mostly rhetorical. Over across from her, Sentinel was seated on a low stool and had a toolbox open on the floor next to him. Shirtless, a faded red rag hanging out of his back pocket, jeans and boots... yeah, he looked like he belonged pinned on the wall of some teenage girl's room. That wasn't his intention as he turned the ratchet again and again, making sure his bike was in prime working order, but that's what Talon saw. Her tongue snaked out to lick her lips beneath her half-mask as she unabashedly stared at the man and the way the lights above made the sweat running along his muscles glisten.
"Then again, I suppose the heat has its strong points..."
Either he was too engrossed in his work or he simply didn't hear her. Talon's steps were nonetheless heavy as she wandered right on over to her man, setting her pale hands on his shoulders and doubtlessly grinning under the swath of crimson covering her lower face. He barely reacted when he felt her touch save to sit up a little and lower the wrench. Leaning his head against her midsection, he lifted one of his heavy hands to settle upon hers.
"War all squared away?"
"She seems happy enough. I'm more concerned with you... sitting there all shirtless, dripping with grease and sweat... what ever am I to do with you?"
The big man chuckled with a shake of his head, his other hand coming up to meet Talon's as well.
"Ignore me and get your ass to the ring. Ophelia's been buzzing me every fifteen minutes for the last hour and a half for an update about what the hell you're up to. I think she missed you."
"She can take it up with War. Our mighty leaderess gets what she wants. By the way, have you seen Emma anywhere?"
"No, why?"
"Just a sense of foreboding is all."
That quieted both of them before Sentinel rose, turning to set his hands to his wife's hips.
"Go get changed and hit the ring with Ophelia, baby. Joanna had me call in the Dead Men before you three went out earlier to handle business. Why she couldn't have asked when she called you the other day I don't know, but she's got something lined up for us and I need to... prepare."
Something about how that was worded, how he said it, make Talon's heart clench. But she nodded and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
"Is everything okay?"
"It will be. Worry about getting your regimen going. Friday... we'll get your message to the masses. I'll man the camera this time as I heard Luca talking about having a 'late session' to deal with."
Grabbing his shirt and jacket, Sentinel kissed Talon's brow and pulled on the tee as he headed out the door. She looked after him for several moments before the scene faded out. Cutting back in, presumably on the promised Friday, we're immediately looking at the towering form of Talon as she sits on, of all things, a swing hanging from the thick branch of an oak. It stands to reason that she's somewhere on Compound property but one should never assume where the Horsewomen are concerned. Dressed head to toe in black and crimson, most of it leather, Fury has her arms wrapped around the heavy ropes holding the swing, staring into the distance at the last darkness of night giving way to dawn. The sun has not yet appeared, but already the glow that heralds its arrival is snuffing out the stars one at a time.
Fury is not serene despite her surroundings and the peace of the early morning. Her eyes seem to have a perpetual glare to them, shining even now with just the first vestiges of sunlight peeking up. Sentinel has an excellent view of that as he mans the portable, taking a knee in front of the swing and bringing the camera up at a slight angle to take the Horsewoman in. Without much of a moment to think, much less take a deep breath, Talon unleashes from the get.
"Nine... weeks."
It's an almost girlish gesture, kicking the toe of her right boot in the dirt and causing dust and debris to kick up. From her daughter it would've been cute. But five bucks says even that random gesture... had Talon imagining a skull at her steel-infused, leather-covered toe.
"Soloke, Anderson and Datura can wait their goddamn turns. The conversation regarding this match, if one would call it that, starts when I damn well say it starts. And before any of that, there's another soul whose attention I demand.
YOU, Katie Moicelle."
The gentle swaying that she'd been doing stops and her arms unwind from about the swing's ropes. Bringing gloved hands up and through her wavy red hair, Talon stares right at the camera.
"You cost me over two months in the ring, little girl, and where I come from a person pays their debts. Who did you think you were going to impress? Your tag team partner? Your now ex-fiancee? That precious little blonde interviewer and her ex-husband? My... I just realized all that could happen in two months here. But none of them are the reason for me fully living up to my title right now.
YOU are.
And when you take center stage at Fate of the Gods II, if you think of nothing and no one else, even if you leave that ring unable to remember your brother's or your new girlfriend's name? You had DAMN well better leave with that pretty Zero Gravity Championship around your waist. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned? No one...NO ONE...gets to take that title from you but ME. THAT is the price for your transgression. If you DARE lose that belt before I get to you, I'll be forced to take your health... perhaps more. So whatever you have to do to keep it? You'd better do it. Or else."
Her voice grates a little, so much that it recedes her brogue a bit, to the point where it's almost unnoticeable. Once the epithets are out of her system, however, Talon seems more focused and a little (we emphasize that word) calmer.
"In other words, I am actually telling you to bust your ass properly to keep that gold on your shoulder, in case such a simple directed needed simplification. So, y'know, can you please not fuck that up? I know that may be difficult for you considering the fact you're why I am here, but hey, a woman can hope right?
"I am still trying to figure out how you managed to botch that so spectacularly... but I really don't need to cause myself yet another head injury trying to figure that one out. I mean, come on... you're a goddamn champion, not some bumbling fucking rookie. And don't give me that 'everyone makes mistakes' bullshit. This was far beyond a simple mistake; this was a nine-fucking-week catastrophe."
Her eyes roll a bit from impatient disgust and she gives her head a shake, causing a few long tendrils of crimson to drop from their tenuous perch, hiding part of her face. Blowing one out of the way but having to physically move her hand to shift the rest, Talon moves on to the next point.
"Let it not be known that I cannot put my mind to business despite the infernal anger welling up inside of me, though. Because just when I was about to storm this pay-per-view and start vivisecting plebeians at random... there was the Fatal Four-Way: a fine method for reintroducing Fury to the screaming masses. And if two-thirds of the meatbags I had to share the ring with were worth the lungful of breath it would take to announce them, you might see me crack a smile, mask be damned. But only Datura is really worthy of consideration in my mind and you can thank our dear leader, War, for that. She sees something in you, Datura. It's a something I do not personally see, admittedly, but that's why she rides at the head of our group. In her words, she sees potential in you. Though considering there's been no formal command to spare you, you can expect me to test you beyond the standard mortal limits. Were I in your place, I'd consider that an honor. It means War thinks you might possess the strength to not only survive our revolution as well as this company's destruction and reconstruction, but that you might actually ride with us. Believe me when I say that that is true honor.
So... congratulations. This is still going to fucking hurt."
She got almost genial there for a moment. Almost.
"Now, where it comes to a pair of no-names like Soloke and Anderson, I can sum up what I of them in two words: I don't."
Artfully giving the male half of the match time to choke down that spilling-over spoonful of burnsauce, Talon continues.
"Their records, where they roamed before diving face-first into this company like flaming sacks of shit, whatever titles they may or may not have held... it amounts to exactly fuck-all with me. I'm not seeing specifics right now, you see. At least not where the two of you are concerned. You're vauge, blurry shapes swimming in a red mist. And when those iffy shapes wander too close, I'm going to start swinging until my fist collides with flesh and bone. Then I'm going to dig my fingers in beneath the skin. I'm going to rip and tear until I feel, taste, wallow in blood. Fury, you see, gives rose-colored glasses a whole new definition. When I tell you what I'm going to do, don't be fools and chalk it up to delusion. When you learn how little you actually mean to me and to our mission, don't chalk it up to arrogance. Sure, it's a little random, maybe too heavy-handed for some of the milk drinkers wallowing around in the festering tide pools of this company's lower depths. It certainly doesn't sound very sane. But let me ask you this: how calmly do YOU think when you're angry?
Fury doesn't have an off-switch. I don't do idle. The two of you are bugs against a windshield, a possum under a set of all-weather treads... you're meat. If you're in my way, I'll splatter you. If you dive aside you might escape with fractures and sprains. 'Oh, Fury is too mean and too violent! She has no respect for the feeling of others! She ought to be banned for her violence!' Is that what I can expect to hear should I bother to flip on the television and listen to your drivel? Well, save it. When you saw my name across from yours, the knocking on the door should have been obvious.
Knock, knock! Who's there? An ass-kicking of Biblical proportions. Say that with 'who?' on the end and I'll tear your teeth out with rusty pliers. Get it?"
A more sinister giggle you've never heard, we assure you.
"This... this is what happens when I am forced to go over two months without an outlet. This is the kind of thing that happens when you try to put Fury back in her bottle like some bleached-up genie. And I suppose I should lighten up a little. After all, you three aren't the reason I've been on the shelf for weeks. But... I'm not."
Shrugging, Talon rises from the swing and stretches, a few popping sounds emanating from her back and spine.
"If you want to blame someone, blame Katie Moicelle. Hell, blame God for all the good it will do you. But make no mistake: if you come down to that ring at Fate of the Gods, this is what you're in for. Seventy-three inches and 180 pounds of crimson rage. My sister said it so eloquently, that we're they to whom even gods must answer to when the time comes. That... is so very beautiful. And damn fucking true."
A brief moment of admiration and peace turns so quickly back to the anger that Talon is known for and, at one point, purported to have great control over. That control, one could assume, has temporarily gone by the wayside.
"Whether you like it or not, the three of you are dancing with the enforcer of the Horsewomen. After our Lady Strife fights for a chance at the Case, before Death and War make a run at gold and glory, there will be pain and peril in the ring, courtesy of yours truly. Datura, I expect a lot from you, as do my sisters, but... there is hope. Your mind wavers on a chaotic breeze and your soul is a beautiful, unburdened entity. That, perhaps, is what brought the eyes of Chaos upon you. Again, I cannot claim to know the mind of War. But the more I dwell on it, the more I think I understand. So my offer to you, from my lips and not those of Joanna, is this:
Soloke and Anderson are in our way. They are fodder, meat thrown to hungry predators to distract and nourish. I say we throw them aside and decide how this ends of our own accord. Toss them like trash at the feet of the mob rattling the rafters of the arena as we go to battle. They, you see, can't feed my hunger. Not only can you accomplish such a task... you can survive in the attempt. But... don't answer yet. Show me your response come Fate of the Gods. Let the world know then, and only then. Why? But of course it is to savor the looks of fear and dread on their faces!"
The laughter is forceful enough that its only partially muffled by her mask, yet it contains every bit of the foreboding Talon would hope it does. She turns thoughtful when it fades, though, considering for a moment before finally speaking anew.
"And, really, what more is there to say? Why belabor the point? No, I think from this point until the bell rings it is time for action to do the talking. A feast upon the flesh of fodder before the huntresses clash over the rest of the spoils and then a hunting... a stalking... for my first taste of championship glory in VoW. Yes... the future looks bright... flowing with red and gold."
Sentinel rises, camera still running as he gets an excellent shot of Talon's eyes, the rage and eagerness within them, before the scene cuts to darkness.[/font][/font]
