Los Angeles, California
Dark Horse Towers
6:24p.m.
A few days after Havoc finds Senester in a small 5,000 seat arena within Dark Horse Towers, in its center is a fencing platform. Senester is geared up and standing on the platform and watches as a woman approaches. She too is geared up and looks extremely serious and anxious. Her eyes are a whirlwind of animosity.
(Senester): Signora Di Francisca, so kind of you to join me.
(Elisa Di Francisca): Come se avessi una scelta. Ti disprezzo!
(Senester): Despise?
Senester notices the look of surprise on her face.
(Senester): Don’t be so surprised signora…I am well versed in many languages, your native tongue being one of the common ones.
(Elisa Di Francisca): Mio inglese non è buono.
(Senester): Be that as it may, you have come for your father have you not?
(Elisa Di Francisca): Sì. Mio padre…
(Senester): Your father has worked for Dark Horse Italia for some time now, and you signora Di Francisca, you are an Olympic gold medalist who has issued me a challenge for his release from contract.
She looks at Senester as he walks around her sizing her up.
(Senester): e si arriva a mani vuote? Of course you have. The look in your eyes tell me you have indeed come empty handed. As one who has devoted her entire life to the art of the sword, an Olympian…you expect to win. I shall accept your offer on my terms. Should you lose, or “when” rather…your father remains in my employ indefinitely.
Senester walks up to her looking her in the eyes…
(Senester): And……as you for my dear, you will give me your gold medals 2010 and 2012. I officially accept your one round challenge, what say you? On guard?
Elisa is so furious she can’t even speak. Confidence radiates from her like solar flares as she stares at Senester and nods in agreement. He smiles at her and pulls down the his mask, stepping backward into starting position. She pulls down her mask, and flips up her sabre up before taking her position as well. To the side is a gentlemen acting as Score Master and he signals the buzzer to start the exhibition. She roars into a wide lunge at Senester with a side thrust of the sabre. Senester sidesteps her as she targets his chest leaving her right abdomen open. He swiftly lunges forward taking aim and catching her in the side, the flashing light in the mask indicates a strike. He is poised and she like tries taking him by surprise with another lunge. He lunges forward at her blocking her, and spins around initiating a classic economy and movement technique, which speed throws her off her planned attack causing her to fumble her defense and recovery efforts. They close in on one another and he stares through the mesh of his mask as he swipes away another of her attacks.
(Senester): Do you really think you can best me at the blade because you’ve gone to the Olympics?
She responds with a loud grunt lunging at him once more and he thrusts the point of his sabre forward onto her shoulder and she yells out in frustration. She steps back, knowing that she must be calm. She knows her craft, she is a two time gold medalist. She takes a deep breath. The image of her father in her mind, warming her soul. She feels as if his hand is upon her shoulder with a gentle pat of pride and admiration he had always shown her. She takes her position, looking to catch up, now two points down and a minute and a half on the clock. She engages him with a Point and Line position, moving her defense from the high outside to the high inside as now Senester feverishly targets her.
She blocks a few blows utilizing this technique to counter with some of her own offense, but soon realizes that Senester is merely toying with her, running down the clock. She springs into action with amazing speed, long leg extensions with low quadrant attacks and Senester blocks her with sheer mastery of the blade. With ten seconds left he brings her to her feet with a arching swipe, she blocks and their blades clash in rounding motions and she leaps up with one last hope of desperation and with poise and simplistic mastery Senester raises his saber catching just before she finally touches him with hers, but it was done. His final point of contact at her neck sealed the deal. Senester motions to his security team in the background and they come forward.
(Senester): You may escort signora Di Francisca out, and be certain to bring me my medals before you let her go.
Senester removes his mask, and starts taking off his gloves. He walks over to her and leans into her ear.
(Senester): Sono lavorare tuo padre come un cane fino a quando lui è di 200 anni e non c'è niente che tu possa fare al riguardo.
He turns and walks away from. Elisa is in a rage, she screams bloody murder at him as he walks out of the arena and doesn’t look back.
An hour later Senester is in his heading to his office. A certain quiet in the halls of Dark Horse Towers’ North Tower seemed to mark the master mood. There was something about the last few months that had kept him busy. After years of intricate work, Project TW-LS1, the rebirth of Michael Dredge was finally afoot. Once in his office he takes a moment to look out the window over the vast city bustling in the early night. He motions to an attendant who shortly brings him a drink. He looks in the man’s eyes as he takes the glass and sends him on his way. He turns to the monitor on the wall and touches the screen, swiping his hand here and there bringing up the security camera in the lobby and zooming in on the departing signora Di Francisca.
(Senester): The human eye can say what the lips might hesitate to part for. In her eyes is a futile anger, she never had and will never have a shred of hope for victory over me. She can scream to the heavens, but it to me she cries, to me she prays, and I will not hear her. Her father will rot within these walls because I will it so. Yet…those eyes…I loved looking into her eyes. I saw something in your eyes at Havoc Mr. Styles. With a light sweat on your face, and clenched fists as you “drove” Michael James from the ring and saw him hand me the All Star Championship. I saw questions seep into the crevices of your brow. The same questions that deep inside our Mrs. Shevington is now asking herself...“What is he going to do now?”
Those eyes of yours tell a thousand tales Mr. Styles. Stories of every woe and frustration your heart and soul has endured. They quiver at every ounce of pain that has been inflicted upon you. You pick yourself up, you hide your tears and your fears for no one else to see and for these small feats you call yourself a “man.” Is that what you are…a man? A man that has finally found his way to the gates of paradise, where he hopes to conquer its great warriors and to find a niche or even a corner in his existence where he might find nothing more than a “moment.” A painless moment of silence, where your heart mourns for nothing or no one. Where your body aches from no bend or break.
Senester lifts the glass of cognac to his nose and swishes the amber liquor around its walls. He takes a deep whiff before taking a sip and staring into the glass.
(Senester): Clos de Griffier Vieux……did you know this cognac is well over 200 years old? If you could take the time to appreciate such refinement Mr. Styles, the knowledge you gain will surely speak volumes to you about yourself, and at Havoc you wouldn’t have dared given me that look of petulant child. Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten your place, is that why you dared to look upon me with request instead of reverence? You don’t know seem to know with who or what you could be wagering your very being against, and it peaks my interest...ever so slightly. I love your passion. That raw energy many athletes wear like a crest for all to see. It says perseverance, vigor, prowess, and is gleams so brightly for a period of time, and you see nothing but your greatness staring back at you. You are at such a precious time in your young career, and you are fortunate to have been mentored by Ronnie McNeil whose career to some was legendary. This provides you with a first-hand account of accolades and failures and how you yourself might achieve or avoid the same. I have a simple question for your Mr. Styles. Do you want to be the HWA All Star Champion? It is not a question I expect you to answer with haste.
The camera pans back once more as Senester rises and we see the All Star Championship sitting on a pedestal to the side. He brushes his finger across the top of it.
(Senester): You won a match at Fatality against who Bryan Deas? How astounding has his performance been lately? Santa Claus? Eliminated before the match began, as if he stood a chance to begin with. And Sheik Shakir…you could live a thousand years Mr. Styles and never cross paths with someone who personifies the word “devotion” as he does. If I say eliminate Santa Claus, he eliminates him. If I say win he wins, and if I say lose, he loses. You won, but if I were you I wouldn’t rest too heavily on my laurels. Michael James resurrected the All Star Championship. He rejuvenated its great legacy for over a year and I will not permit it to fall into disgrace and complacency. Michael James epitomized everything a champion should be…..an impeccable ring performance, but more importantly….. a constant, and active presence within and outside the business. To be a champion Mr. Styles, you must more than merely want it, more than earn opportunities at it. You must “walk the walk” as the saying goes.
Ask men like McNeil, Reaper, Renegade, Mastiff, or Nightmare, how despite holding various championships in their career, they never felt within themselves that they had achieved that illustrious status of true recognition and greatness. The answer is simple… inadequate results are the offspring of minimal efforts. Ask men like Lenny, Deas, Maniac, Eddie, or Talon, how their inflated perceptions of personal success is shared by no one but themselves, and was never an irrefutable, universal law none could deny. In short Mr. Styles…and anyone else who wants this championship…the answer is simple. When you think of the All Star Championship, when you hear its name, and every time you even glance upon it…to you, and to those wanting…….it is as Excalibur, it is as the sword in the stone that only one worthy shall hold, and I will not relinquish it until that individual steps forth. Until that individual makes themselves known, and I don’t care if it’s you, someone old, or someone new.
Senester removes the All Star Championship from the pedestal and turns to place it in an unusual looking brief case. On the front of the case is black panel, where he places his hand. A purple light illuminates beneath it is a line that scans his hand and seals the case.
(Senester): Clos de Griffier Vieux Mr. Styles. Craftsmanship, precision, and refinement. The reward of vigilant efforts is more than you can imagine, but everything you should strive for. But……we shall see won’t we? We shall see!
He takes a seat to lounge and look out over the city as the scene fades to black.
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