Ecleftic-2 Sides II A Book -- GWA Insurrection Role-play board

[\|...Open the curtains, the shows begun...|/}

X.

Satisfied; contented or pleased with what has happened In the case of Drake, Saturday happened to be the proving grounds for what was to be. Everything people gave him, he responded accordingly and gave them what he had to give in order to be successful. On this night, it was time for Drake to step out of the shadows of being of the January/ February club and into his own. Not many people thought he would last this far. But by elimination, the man known as Mercury happened to let his emotions run full as Drake fell backwards avoiding a elimination by Missle, but getting one from Mercury. And when the man fell, Drake ended up getting hit with a Diffuser DDT thanks to a sore loser in James Sexton. I guess all you can say right now is that when time comes, Drake is going to get back at Sexton no doubt, but first there is championship business to attend to - on both sides of the ball. It's nothing really, just a man from the GWA whose problems attend to more than what many say and another who just happens to be trying to set a record. I tell you one thing, to play defender of a title one night and then go for one in the next is pretty costly and right now, it's all about the things in which fate leads her hand over it. First off, we get to FWF matters first.

Jason Hartnell

Drake: Champion; look at what I am to this man and then try to tell me the different. Jason Hartnell the only time I've mentioned your name is when you happened to be compared to Erick Caine. You wonder just why Hartnell is where he is right now? Second best to Nathaniel Renzo Glore, for it was once thought that Hartnell would never make it into the Fans Wrestling Federation. Well look at him now, not only did he debut in November he took the federation by storm and went undefeated in the entire two months he has been here. But now, it's time for some records to fall. Right now Jason, it is not about bad blood between us because it is non existent, not even a reality for us all to experience. No, it's not just for a title Jason for really if it were, pride and respect would also be on the table. Make not a mistake about it Jason, I'm not here for your entertainment, nor am I here just to make your life that more competitive, I'm here for success and if you're in the way of my success then so be it. For some things happen in this world that we cannot make sense about. The things we call senseless, as tipsy turvy as this world happens to be. Either life can be long or short, like title reigns. A long term goal for you Jason when you first captured the belt at January Blizzard is that you wanted a long, Luciano-esque reign. My plan is to stop that right in its tracks. Try to prove to me Hartnell that by use of a chainsaw, you're hardcore. Try to prove to me with the skill of a wrestler, that you can duel with the best of them. "Are you worthy of my approval?" It's what you're saying in your head Jason for right now, let's skip all of the put downs and get to bare facts for this is a political thing, winning votes to gain victory. These are the times that try men's souls Hartnell, and you are the British trying to rule over me with a fixture for being bigger and badder than me. Brush up on history Jason, because the American Revolution...(chuckle) is now coming into the 31st century, and guess whose going to be America? That's right Hartnell myself and don't be surprised if I happen to beat you Hartnell, maybe we can shake hands after the match and call it good job. Maybe not.

Your future looks bright Hartnell and maybe for kicks it will be one good story to make a New York Times Best Seller out of but this is not some power meeting, this ain't no weed indulged promo, and I am not a relative of Jimmy Luciano. This is what you concur at Hartnell, read the Tarot cards placed before you, this will not be something you wish were the same nor the right place or the right time period. For there is only one legacy you are known of Hartnell, and that legacy died right along with a company. You know what Hartnell? I've had no legacy because I haven't even started yet for even thought like Jimmy Luciano said, you talk trash about me, I respond because it's my nature. Right now you just don't understand, why you have to be called a fan. People like that latch onto the balls of their heroes and then when they suck them dry, there's nothing left but zeroes. Fuck dollar signs and endorsement when coming through, it's like a white rapper who can flow, but can't get clue. Because I'm the professional and you're the shinner of my shoes, the reason for it all because I got nothing to lose. Jason Hartnell, the faggot, the fake, the pussy, the Stan, how you gonna be a champion when I destroyed yo game plan?

The upper lip is just reeking of foul putrid, skanky bottom feeders, never going to be cupid. Bunch of sucking leeches hanging on for all you got, ask Jason's mind it knows he's a crackpot with ideas for the future that we know ain't the truth, so really take it from a super duper sleuth. It's everything Jason Hartnell ever wanted truly yours Mr. Maxwell, not the coffee, but the man and the champion whose coming off the frying pan.

Retribution;something done or given to somebody as punishment or vengeance for something he or she has done. Guess what? There is no one better than what we are speaking right now. They don't like seeing us on top, not Drake for his genius and skill. This is the genesis most of us expected, but it's not our first time at this no sir. We have people inside of your minds wondering to knock us off of our feet and now it is the time for them to do just that. All I know is this, Anton Rayge just wants everything for this Maximus title that is currently inside of the palms of Drake and you know he is not going down without some substantial fight. Because right now as long as Anton Rayge posess the thought of survival over all of his problems then there is nothing to stop him until everything he loves it broken and nothing is able to rise again.

Anton Rayge

Drake: Anton Rayge; how are you welcomed into the vast pit of glory that is my domain?If you wanted my attention, you could have just asked. No, you took the route of cheap shots and plugs to make sure that really when you understand everything, it's pure material bullshit that has your greed overshadowed by your talent. Every night, every single famous word that spills out of your mouth, it tells you this Anton. That with all of the history that is present within you and with all of the moments we loved you and then hated you, it's become a game so to speak. Anton, I wish it were different between you and I, if you weren't that bitter about things, Place the boot on your feet upon my prone body Anton? Ain't happening in p this century nor next. You wanted revenge, now I'm going for revenge Anton. You see if none of this ever happened and we were back at square number one, then it'd be different. It will never be different now Anton. For never will I be the shit until I hold the Gladiator title, until then Anton, I am nothing more than a wrestler, not defined by titles or glory but by hate. By rage, and by the substantial thoughts of having to make sure that I keep who I am intact and not by what you say to me. History has told me, fate has told me, even fucking life has told me that when you face a man whose history sums up who he is then you take whatever that man has and you make sure that you hurt him for the pure fun of it.

You see, it is never to be known for what you did, it is for who you are and if you feel like you need to be known for what you did Anton then you've just pissed on everything wrestling stands for. You can call yourself the Truth but my truth to a story is going to be shaped out of victory and actually facts, not this puny school girl shit that keeps coming out of your lips. You faggot, lesser of the man, I don't think I have to explain it to you any longer. What is your problem Anton? Have you grown soft on the old heart already, or did it occur to you that fear is a understatement to what we are going to go through Wednesday night? For right now my friend, enemy you are living in infamy and I am going to make infamy your worst thought of imagination. Check List bitch: You're False, Your Prediction is worse than Ms. Cleo, and Wednesday your prediction of Grand Slam is faker than a hooker in church.

{\|...Silence for the fallen...|/}

XI.

Inside all of us there are two beings inside of the compartment known as our souls, the make believe things you wish to see, yet it has relic movements when you sell it. The two sides of a man are nothing but what many happen to have delt with in their personal trials and tribulations. From the beginnings of childhood to the state of adulthood they now encompass. The sides are complete opposites from each other, a line of symmetry is broken trying to figure if they are the same. For their are the points of wisdom, and evil.

There is your good side, the side where many people enjoy seeing you inside of where they laugh, and enjoy being around you. If you were ever feeling sorry for something as an evil person, that is your good side reaching out for an existence. It might not be much towards a person of evil, but when a perky person releases his or her good side, then it multiplies their sanctum of happiness into overdrive.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is your evil side, the callous, twisted part where nothing stops you from achieving what you want. You backstab, you even kill to get your way. The soul of happiness at this time is cold, unfeeling and on the brinks of extinction. Many of your common satanists feel this for how ever long they feel like it needs to be out. Inside there are points of authority in which you find yourself trapped from within, hearing those voices inside of your head. They eat at you like worms on dead carcass and then you feel the rage inside of you building. You become almost invunerable towards any sort of pain whatsoever.

Evil | Good

He was no longer in the hall. He was marching along a gallery overhanging one of the great streets of the moving platforms that traversed the city. Before him and behind him tramped his guards. The whole concave of the moving ways below was a congested mass of people marching, tramping to the left, shouting, waving hands and arms, pouring along a huge vista, shouting as they came into view, shouting as they passed, shouting as they receded, until the globes of electric light receding in perspective dropped down it seemed and hid the swarming bare heads. Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.

The song roared up to Drake now, no longer upborne by music, but coarse and noisy, and the beating of the marching feet, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp, interwove with a thunderous irregularity of footsteps from the undisciplined rabble that poured along the higher ways.

Abruptly he noted a contrast. The buildings on the opposite side of the way seemed deserted, the cables and bridges that laced across the aisle were empty and shadowy. It came into Drake's mind that these also should have swarmed with people.

He felt a curious emotion--throbbing--very fast. He stopped again. The guards before him marched on; those about him stopped as he did. He saw the direction of their faces. The throbbing had something to do with the lights. He too looked up.

At first it seemed to him a thing that affected the lights simply, an isolated phenomenon, having no bearing on the things below. Each huge globe of blinding whiteness was as it were clutched, compressed in a systole that was followed by a transitory diastole, and again a systole like a tightening grip, darkness, light, darkness, in rapid alternation.

Drake became aware that this strange behavior of the lights had to do with the people below. The appearance of the houses and ways, the appearance of the packed masses changed, became a confusion of vivid lights and leaping shadows. He saw a multitude of shadows had sprung into aggressive existence, seemed rushing up, broadening, widening, growing with steady swiftness--to leap suddenly back and return reinforced. The song and the tramping had ceased. The unanimous march, he discovered, was arrested, there were eddies, a flow sideways, shouts of "The lights!" Voices were crying together one thing.

Voices: The light's, the light's!

He looked down. In this dancing death of the lights the area of the street had suddenly become a monstrous struggle. The huge white globes became purple-white, purple with a reddish glow, flickered, flickered faster and faster, fluttered between light and extinction, ceased to flicker and became mere fading specks of glowing red in a vast obscurity. In ten seconds the extinction was accomplished, and there was only this roaring darkness, a black monstrosity that had suddenly swallowed up those glittering myriads of men.

He felt invisible forms about him; his arms were gripped. Something rapped sharply against his shin. A voice balled inside of his ear.

Voice: It's all right-it's all right.

Drake shook off the paralysis of his first astonishment. He struck his forehead against Lincoln's and bawled.

Drake: What is this light? The real light is when Jason Hartnell falls for the International title, and when Anton Rayge falls for the Maximus.

Voice: The Council has cut the currents that light the city. We must wait--stop. The people will go on. They will--

His voice was drowned. Voices were shouting, Save the Sleeper. Take care of the Sleeper. A guard stumbled against Drake and hurt his hand by an inadvertent blow of his weapon. A wild tumult tossed and whirled about him, growing, as it seemed, louder, denser, more furious each moment. Fragments of recognizable sounds drove towards him, were whirled away from him as his mind reached out to grasp them. Voices seemed to be shouting conflicting orders, other voices answered. There were suddenly a succession of piercing screams close beneath them.

The perversity of his experience came to him vividly. In actual fact he had made such a leap in time as romancers have imagined again and again. And that fact realised, he had been prepared, his mind had, as it were, seated itself for a spectacle. And no spectacle, but a great vague danger, unsympathetic shadows and veils of darkness. Somewhere through the labyrinthine obscurity his death sought him. Would he, after all, be killed before he saw? It might be that even at the next shadowy corner his destruction ambushed. A great desire to see, a great longing to know, arose in him.

He became fearful of corners. It seemed to him that there was safety in concealment. Where could he hide to be inconspicuous when the lights returned? At last he sat down upon a seat in a recess on one of the higher ways, conceiving he was alone there.

He squeezed his knuckles into his weary eyes. Suppose when he looked again he found the dark through of parallel ways and that intolerable altitude of edifice, gone? Suppose he were to discover the whole story of these last few days, the awakening, the shouting multitudes, the darkness and the fighting, a phantasmagoria, a new and more vivid sort of dream. It must be a dream; it was so inconsecutive, so reasonless. Why were the people fighting for him? Why should this saner world regard him as Owner and Master?

So he thought, sitting blinded, and then he looked again, half hoping in spite of his ears to see some familiar aspect of the life of the nineteenth century, to see, perhaps, the little harbour of Boscastle about him, the cliffs of Pentargen, or the bedroom of his home. But fact takes no heed of human hopes. A squad of men with a black banner tramped athwart the nearer shadows, intent on conflict, and beyond rose that giddy wall of frontage, vast and dark, with the dim incomprehensible lettering showing faintly on its face.

XII.

He sat off in the far near corner of the room, hugging towards the plastered layout, graffiti sprayed along side of the wall, his face a tired and beat up mess. He could barely stand upon his own two feet, the bones just felt like they did not want him to be that way. His force of nature had been rocked, to to the very roots.

It was only hours before, the transformation from plain evil, to uncanny and benevolent evil in his mind. There were only blinking lights protruding through the cracks of the steel inept door, the voices inside of his head giving off impulses thought different brain waves and messaging to do something. The lights going off like a New York telephone switchboard, each one a different destination for success and to get its words, transmitted into the open world of imagination.

As the door creaked open with the screeching ruffling of wood against wood, a figure came from within, the light shined upon the face as the strobe lighting of black hair was the first thing he saw in captivity other than perpetual darkness. Blushing rosy red cheeks, barely was the color shown on her face, yet he knew who it was. The same woman who had done everything to help him inside of the forest of lights and technology at Shanghai. Although she tried, she came up short. He knew her right when he said her name.

Drake: Amy...

He raised up from the state, mentally trying to walk over to her and embrace her with whatever he could. He was tired, emotionally spent from even thinking clearly right now. There was no crying for him, no part of salvation inside of his soul.
He felt empty.

Amy: Drake? You there?

He did not say a word to her, as he just nodded his head and let her speak her mind. She took a step forward, her long red flower dress starting to hang off of the black high heels on her feet. He could only keep to himself in the silence.

Amy: Drake, come on you have to understand to just let some things go. I mean yeah we all lose things sometimes, but still do you have to go to this little spell?

Drake: ...you have no idea woman. You have not one solitary idea for us to even be having this conversation. Because right now, we have a man talking about sleeping when he has a match to prepare for, something that many would take some seriousness towards. Right now...I feel just like them, lazy than a bitch in heat.

Amy grumbles to herself as she continues pacing around the room, the end of her high heel coming along the wood sharply, giving off a loud mocking cackle. She takes off her shoes and discards of them in a nearby corner. She faces Drake once more, this time coming even closer towards his face.

Amy: You have to get up Drake, you have a match Tuesday against Jason Hartnell for the International championship and Wednesday against Anton Rayge for your Maximus championship.

Drake: Do not you think I know that already? I mean can you not be more of a dumb blonde, I have seen everything the two of them have come up with since their inceptions. The murders that the being known as death and light has produced. I have seen the many things that our dear friend, Anton Rayge has come up with and does it impress me? None what so ever and now he thinks I am afraid, he thinks I am sick towards his own livelyhood. It is no more that I end him as like that fool Hartnell. So thy Sabbath can be simple and the days ahead a easy. I've told Hartnell and Anton and now it is time for the realization.

Amy: Well..I..

Drake: What? You do not know that these people are inferior towards my plan? By the crimson of the blood that flows inside of your body, I should just kill every single wrestler that pissed me off in my career now should I?

Amy: You don't want to be a Chaos rip off now do you?

Drake: Playing by the rules....of spoofing.

A titled head comes from Amy as Drake grows a devious smile on his face, the sanctum of pure evil placed in between his emotions and the smile found on his face. He pushes himself off with his hands getting up and landing straight upon his feet. His shirt is ripped from top to bottom showing parts of his chest. The black shorts are in place, not becoming a nudist and presenting a pose of himself in the buff.

Amy: What the fuck happened to you?

Drake: ...the angels have wings, their blood spilt along the glass plane...

Amy: What?

Drake:...from their fallen mouths, the blood rose from the bodies to create a new...

Amy: Just what are you talking about? Who are you talking to?

Drake: ...that new creation was a flux, a pandora inside of a box of chains...for I am a man in chains, left in the ashes...

Amy: What is this psycho mindless babble?

Drake: ...Wish I may, wish I might, have this I wish tonight...are you satisfied? Dig for gold...Dig for fame... You dig to make your name... Are you pacified? All the wants you waste... All the things you've chased... Then it all crashes down... And you break your crown... And you point your finger, but there's no one around... Just want one thing... Just to play the King... But the castle's crumbled and you're left with just a name... Where's your crown, King Nothing?

Amy: Are you alright in the head?

He says nothing, just giving her another one of those odd stares in the face and walking out of the door, his mind a fresh and his thoughts are on ball point focus. He in a zone, a place he has never encountered before in his original lifetime.

The second side....unleashed.....