Durden/Moss v The Order

[UKWF]

Post your RPs for the match below. 2 RP cap, max. 1 RP per character, max. 500 words per RP.

[CraigTheCylon]

"Ahah...hehehe...wait, that's not - no, it goes - hold it still!"

[Outside, in the 'welcoming' British summertime weather, Sister Grendel is balancing on a stepladder and painting the top of some six-foot wooden icon, being held steady by the Shard, who pays little attention. Grendel's tongue is sticking out from concentration as she doodles something that might be an eye, before clocking the camera...]

"There you are. Luckily I am just about done - oop!"

[Grendel hops down off the ladder unsteadily, sending it toppling over. The Shard stares at it, and moves to pick it up...]

"No! Just - just leave it! It is not important, the other thing is!"

[The Shard gives Grendel an unreadable look, but doesn't touch the ladder, so she swallows drily and turns to face us with a suddenly manic grin.]

"SO, assorted Welsh people, we meet again, for the second...third?...some number of times greater than one. I would tell you that this time you stand no chance, but you stood no chance last time, and it would be a redundant statement to imply you stand TWICE a no chance THIS time! You absolutely do not, however. Just to be clear."

[She actually looks proud of that one.]

"You have already suffered the wrath of my dark master's fractal, Lowri, and doubtless tremble at the thought of facing it again. But I know how you think, Neal - because I can read your mind - and you believe that your cunning stratagem of fleeing like a shaven goose gives you an actual edge over the Shard. You...you very unintelligent person! Cowardice will avail you nothing, for you see, I have been enhancing the Shard's reflexes with a devoted training regimen these past weeks. Witness the agility!"

[From a pocket in her robes, Grendel removes a smooth-edged stone, and throws it fast towards the Shard, who reacts by...not reacting at all and just letting the rock 'poink' harmlessly off his barrel chest. His head snaps around toward Grendel with an affronted air afterwards, however, making the sister recoil.]

"Eep! Uh...s-so come what may, Neal and Lowri, at SummerFest our battle ends for good, when I prove once and for all that I am the greatest disciple of the Canoness - no matter what Gaia might think - and you two will face the same fate as ALL your fellow 'dragons'!"

[With that, Grendel takes out some matches, lights one, and tosses it onto that wooden icon from before - which does kinda-sorta look like a dragon. It catches on fire almost immediately. So, alarmingly, does the Shard.]

"Oh - no, look, you can take your arm away from it now. Take it off! Off!"

[The feed ends as the Shard looks at its burning arm in silence.]

[Lowri Moss]

The scene opens inside a coffee house, where Lowri is seen sat at a table, with a mug of coffee in front of her. She is wearing a pair of pale blue jeans and a red t-shirt.

‘I’ve been in the US for about three weeks now, and while I’m not in a rush to leave, it’ll be nice to be back home, to set foot in a UKWF ring again, and to hopefully settle things with The Order, once and for all.’

Lowri leans forward, to grasp the mug of coffee.

‘If anyone thinks I’m at all frightened by the prospect of being inside a ring with Grendel and the Shard, think again. In fact, I wish I didn’t have to wait until next weekend for this match - I wish it was tonight, not in eleven days. I don’t care how big you are, or how creepy you are, because with the mood I’m in at the moment, I just want to kick, chop, and headbutt somebody...anybody; right now, I’m too frustrated to be frightened.’

Lowri then picks up her coffee; after drinking some of it, she puts the mug back down on the table.

‘I’m currently in Chicago to support Neal, who later this evening will be competing in - of all things - a weed wacker on a pole match.’

A pause follows, as Lowri smirks.

‘You know, last week, while I watched Power Play from a hotel room in Los Angeles, and as Grendel and the Shard interfered in the penultimate match of the night, I was proud of Neal for trying to help Night Train and Valkyrie, despite the numbers being against him, what with me not being there by his side; they were hardly the actions of someone who is scared, were they?’

There is another momentary pause, before she continues.

‘Anyone who hasn’t seen the match that I was involved in this past Saturday missed seeing me fall from a ladder, sail over the top rope, and crash through two tables that were at ringside, as I once more failed to win the first title of my career. Whatever The Order have planned for me and Neal for next weekend, whatever agony they envision themselves inflicting upon us, it can’t possibly be as bad as the pain, both physical and emotional, that I’ve been through in the past few days.’

Lowri lets out a sigh.

‘Neal has suggested that I let my frustration simmer, so that I can then unleash it on The Order, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. Every blow and every strike will have a different edge to them from normal. I won’t back down from Grendel or the Shard, just as previously, I didn’t back down from Gaia. Neal and I won’t allow ourselves to be forced into the darkness. It’s time for us to put an end to this.’

Lowri then raises her mug again, and as she does so, the scene fades to black.

[CraigTheCylon]

Burning meat. He smells burning meat.

For a moment he wonders: how is the scent familiar? Why does it have a name? But those are unimportant questions.

The important question is 'where', and he realizes the stench rises from him. At least part of him.

A shard of a shard. The humour is not entirely lost in translation.

Following the smell, he finds his arm...dancing.

Dozens of little light trails writhing to unseen music, curling into invisibility at their peak, only to be replaced.

It is hypnotic. It also does not last.

Something - someone - the one that seems to be near him always throws a cloth over the fire dancers, snuffing them.

The squawking one pushes against him, and he relents, as there is no threat.

She continues making sounds, bleating in distress.

The strong smell of burning is ultimately more distracting so he ignores her.

Is this pain, he wonders, turning over the damaged limb, its containment material melted through?

Is this pain, this...fleeting, transient sensation the masses fear and run from?

It is nothing.

Less than nothing.

A universe around them to experience and these overgrown ants cannot see past the prick of a needle.

And still they think they can stand before him like an equal.

They think they can inflict this 'pain' upon him and he will fall like their equal.

Unthinkable.

The noisy one is doing something to his limb, binding it anew.

He does not like being bound, so he forces her away. Something breaks. Not him.

So small they are. All of them.

Now, more come, with more noise. They turn colours as they go, white to red. Unusual.

Their attitude offends him. He is above disrespect. He wonders why, why he stands with them at all.

But on the other, he wonders why he would not.

There is a comfort to their familiarity; the same few faces anchoring him in a strange, strange world.

Not only these ones, who scurry around tending to him as if he were a child. Others too.

Others like the ones who hurt him.

Maggots like the rest - no, no, not quite. Maggots are more honest.

Less than maggots, then. But familiar.

On some level he very much wants to see them again, and not even solely to destroy them.

He does not yet know the word for this feeling. In the void there was no-one else and no need for words defining others.

They are like the fire dancers, he concludes.

Writhing and curling in ways that fascinate and excite him, dying swiftly yet re-emerging soon after.

He wants very much to see their dance again.

But he knows it will not last. No fire lasts. Even stars burn themselves cold - he has seen that personally.

And he suspects - no - he knows they will not make it that far.

For it is his destiny to snuff them out for good.

[Neal Durden]

The show had ended in Chicago, she probably was outside waiting for me, but I needed to do something else before I went out. I needed to use the look I had just after having a brutal match, another one, to show how willingly I was to the notion of becoming a kamikaze for the sake of the team. I grabbed my phone and pulled out Josh Kennedy from a corner he was standing. The man was, at least for now, the only one who was willing to help me get used to the environment of a deathmatch promotion. I asked him to record me speaking and he did, of course he did.

With blood in my hair creating a mess, drips of blood mixed with sweat all over my body; I stood in front of the camera and smiled.

“Insects have a pesky way of making their presence known to others. They’re like kamikaze pilots… they know they’re gonna die… yet… they decide to risk it all to fulfill their role in nature.” Being ambiguous has never served me well in the past, but this time, this time it seemed fitting. Not only were Lowri and I facing off against, arguably, our biggest challenge yet as a tag-team… but we were also in what many would consider a suicide mission. So I continued. “Our role as a team is less defined as that of mere bugs. Sure, for you we might only be that… mere bugs ready to get swapped away without dealing any significant blow… yet, your words tell a very different story.

“They tell the story of two people that, quite honestly, don’t know what they’re dealing with and frankly have no idea of how to handle the task ahead of them. Sure, you might bring up the past, you might bring up how we ran week ago… but you forget that after I ushered the words… ‘WE FIGHT!’… we have done just that.

“And yes, maybe we’re just on a suicide mission, we’re maybe in a collision course with a wall that might be seen as unbreakable… but… we know exactly what we’re facing…. A couple of puppets without the puppeteer. Because for how big and mighty you two might look as a tandem, without Magdalena by your side, you’re just a big and strong dude with a weird girl by his side.

“I’ll admit, that… by looks alone, the Shard might be able to take me out with ease… but if you truly think that… then you haven’t been paying attention to US… because we’re not dragons of tale and myth… we’re dragons of flesh and blood… and we’re not going to give up, not even in the face of extinction. You’ve left us for dead… and that was your mistake… now, you’re gonna see us RISE UP… TAKE OUR CHANCE… and as Kamikaze pilots… BLOW…. UP… THE SHARD!”

Neal bows sarcastically and as he rose up he smiled and spoke.

“Long… live… the canoness….”