Gabriel sits on a mint-green sofa the hotel room of the Archangels in Augusta, the setting of the previous Havoc. He mulls over the result that seen the Archangels come up short once again in their quest to become HWA Tag Team Champions against DNA. He is lurched forward, his back arched and his chin cupped in the palms of his hands, his stare fixated on nothing in particular.
(Gabriel): Two consecutive losses….two consecutive losses.
Just then, Gabriel's younger brother Michael emerges from the confines of his bedroom, topless, attired in a pair of jogging pants, and a toothbrush protruding from his mouth. He attempts to talk but the froth from the toothpaste aswell as the toothbrush itself still lodged in his mouth makes the attempt nigh-on impossible to make out. Gabriel merely gives his sibling a puzzled look.
(Gabriel): Say what now?
Michael holds a hand up in acknowledgement and the words "just a sec" can vaguely be interpreted as he disappears back into the bedroom. Several seconds later he reappears, toothbrush gone, and he dabs his mouth with a hand towel, throwing it nonchalantly back into the room after he is done.
(Michael): I said "Stop going on about it!" DNA proved a point, they can hold their own as champions. We underestimated them and it won't be happening again any time soon.
(Gabriel): It still looks bad though, Michael. A duo of our calibre losing two matches in the space of a month doesn't bode well when we're trying to establish ourselves as a top tag team. And those little pricks, Kaleb and Malik, Talon Wilkinson's little lackeys, now they want a piece of the action, thinking they can swoop in under the radar and stake their claim.
(Michael): They're just kids with giant chips on their small shoulders. They've got spunk and are hungry to prove themselves. Remind you of anyone?
Gabriel rolls his eyes, knowing the point his brother is making.
(Gabriel): Point made.
Michael smiles and pats his brother reassuringly on the shoulder.
(Michael): Don't worry brother; they have to earn their shot just like everyone has to. They haven't even had a match yet.
(Gabriel): I guess you're right. By the way, Draconis has been talking about you.
Michael's ears perk up with interest.
(Michael): Pray tell.
(Gabriel): Oh, you know the usual BS that every member of the Sons of Anarchy spews out every time they have a match. "I'm amazing, you are weak, I will destroy you, your soul is mine, we hate black people but white people aswell, well, maybe…only the ones that get in our way, because we are from the south and that matters in…some…weird….non-existent way".
Michael laughs out loud heartily at Gabriel's mocking of Draconis.
(Michael): All you need now is a General Lee, a white cape and a torch and you're all set.
(Gabriel): Don't forget an undeserved sense of accomplishment.
Michael clicks his fingers, carrying on the joke.
(Michael): On a serious note, do you have it recorded? I detest having to monologue but with these guys it's the only way to really put your point across without confusing them.
(Gabriel): Yeah, it's on the TiVo. I'll give you some space, start packing or something. Remember and use small words, short, sharp sentences, their collective IQ probably matches that of a sewer rat.
Michael grins.
(Michael): Thanks for the tip.
Gabriel disappears out of sight into the confines of his own room as Michael sits himself down on the sofa, watching the highlights from Draconis' promo. After it finishes, the younger member of the Archangels lean back slightly, taking the small band of dialogue spoken by Draconis. A few minutes pass before Michael leans forward again and clears his throat before he starts to speak.
(Michael): Well, William, or is it Steven? Or Anarchist Vampire? To be honest my friend, it's almost impossible to differentiate between the three of you when you open your mouths. Differentiate; by the way, means to distinguish, I mean, to tell apart, forgive me. Back on point though; you've shown great savvy to point out, William, that my brother and I have defeated you in the past, and I commend you for being able to remember that far back. You seem, however, to have forgotten that it was in a tag match and that you also had your partner Fallen by your side aswell, so to try and fob off the defeat by implying Gabriel and I had a superior advantage over both of you only further implies that we are more gifted wrestlers than you, no? I'm so glad we managed to clear that up.
You may consider yourself the so-called "powerhouse" of the Sons of Anarchy, but strength and power held in incapable hands is as dangerous as an unloaded gun. You have nothing you can threaten me with William Draconis. All your promises of putting me away are a waste of your breath. As you can by my size and stature, William, I am obviously not the bulkiest or tallest man in the world but as I'm sure you can attest to, I am very, very fast and my submission skills are as venomous and deadly as a King Cobra's bite. Trust me William, all your strength, aggression and power will account for nothing for you will have nothing to use it against. My brains, ring savvy, submission skills will trump anything you think you can throw in my direction and if you think that your beloved Fallen will come to your aid fair maiden, then be that on your own head because I have too have an ace in kind lurking up my sleeve in the form of older brother Gabriel – a man both you and your associates have been already been acquainted with first hand.
A short impasse takes place, Michael falling silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
(Michael): The crux of the matter is simple William. You and the Sons of Anarchy want the tag team championships. But you also want to usurp the NWO's tyrannical reign atop the HWA mountain. Fallen wants the All Star Championship aswell as his Spotlight title. You want the world, gentlemen. My brother and I are the embodiment of the tag team titles, William. We are the very definition of what tag team wrestling is all about and we will be victorious over the title holders sooner or later let me be crystal clear on that. What will transpire at Havoc will just be a small sampling as to what to expect when the Archangels are eventually and inevitably crowned as HWA Tag Team Champions.
And with that Michael walks off screen without so much as a second look back and the scene finishes, fading to black.
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