Post by TAFKA Cyaneyed on Feb 17, 2006 18:12:36 GMT -5
Ooc: Me, Method Cobra and Morbid Angel are all good friends out of character and we all have permission to use each others characters. Simon has told me how his RP will start so part of our RPs will have the same settings, however they will most likely not correlate.
I: Never Make Assumptions
The day was long. Longer than normal, or so it seemed. Maybe this was what it was like for everyone.
Cyaneyed sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was sat on the side of a large double bed, atop a light blue quilt, decorated with thin lines of red and large flowery patters of blue, shaded a touch deeper than the rest of the quilt to stand out. Surprisingly though, he wasn’t analysing the quilt cover as he got to his feet and made himself a glass of water in the en suite. Cyaneyed looks into the mirror, and puffs out his cheeks, exhaling slowly. Today had been a strange one. He looks down at his watch; it reads as 02:40 AM on the small digital display. Cyaneyed rests his palms over the sink basin, and looks into his own eyes. They are lightly blue-green, to the uneducated, but to anyone intelligent, they are obviously cyan. Of course, he isn't analysing himself. Thoughts of the past day flood through his mind, and he closes his eyes, leaning his body forwards so that his forehead is resting against the glass of the mirror-cum-cabinet before him. His teeth clench, as if he is in pain, but his eyes do not screw up, they remain closed, still and composed. He takes a long, deep breath, and opens his eyes again, looking blankly for a moment, and looks back to the cabinet. He opens it up, and takes out a glass, filling it with water and walking back into the bedroom. The room is dark, but not terribly so. A dim lamp does a meek job of illuminating one corner, and makes it possible to see the room in the main. Cyaneyed sits down on the bed, and takes a sip of his drink, sets down the glass on a bedside table, and lays back.
Morbid Angel: Nice wheels, bitch!
Cyaneyed: What the f..
Morbid Angel: f**k! As in...GOOD f**k**g BYE!
..][..Morbid Angel slams the car into gear, and speeds off, with 'Te Quiero Puta' playing at full volume..][..
Cyaneyed: *silence* ............Who the Hell was that?
Method Cobra: It my godd**n nemesis
Cyaneyed: Shadow?
Method Cobra: No Morbid Angel.
Morbid Angel. That name had stuck with him all day. Morbid Angel. Sounded like some kind of poor death metal band. That or this guy was just another ‘dark’ guy. Cyaneyed was new to the ring, but he wasn’t new to the industry. He’d watched over several establishments in the past, and all of them housed such individuals. The guys classed as ‘dark’. They would come out in the dark, dress in black, play with fire, talk about spirits and demons, and nearly always have a tombstone or a chokeslam as their finishing manoeuvre. This guy appeared to have all the hallmarks of a dark character. But if there was one thing Cyaneyed had learned from his own past, it was that you never make assumptions. Make a poor assumption and you start to believe it. Believe your own assumptions and you will miss the truth.
Cyaneyed sits up, and shuffles back on the bed, leaning against the bed rest, his head leant slightly far back so it touches the wall. His fingers tap against his thighs, and he starts reflecting on events that occurred afterwards.
II: Recollections
Cyaneyed stood beside Method Cobra, his jaw hanging from its hinges loosely, unable to lift itself as his brain was still in shock. Method Cobra was pacing around him, clicking his fingers and clapping, but Cyaneyed was in a daze. Beneath his veiled expression, his mind was racing. His heart pounded. His breathing remained normal. If he stayed as he was much longer, he’d probably have a stroke.
*Slap*
Method Cobra slaps Cyaneyed around the back of his head. Slowly, Cyaneyed blinks and snaps out of his daze. He looks at Method Cobra, and around his location. It’s dark now, so the surroundings are dark and shrouded, as well as bleak and empty. The light in the gas station is still on, the filament must be ancient but somehow it is still operational. Cyaneyed takes a look at Method Cobra again, and he is shaking his head, muttering in French. It must be late now. Can’t be long until the lift arrives, right? Cyaneyed reassures himself with that notion as he crosses his arms, trying to stay warm as the cold desert smites him with a swift, icy breeze. Method Cobra gets on his bike, and sits on it backwards, facing Cyaneyed.
Method Cobra: Man it f*ck this. I’m din’dt believe this.
Cyaneyed: “………….”
Method Cobra: Did you agreed to this man? This man Morbid it a fool. I’m about ready to whomps the ass at this fool. Did you got a aggression Cyaneyed? Or it no?
Cyaneyed: “…………..”
Method Cobra: Shit man I thought I snap you out of this. I guess I to slap you again.
Cyaneyed: Don’t even think about it.
Method Cobra: Oh! OH! You are awake hehe. Well what up. Man you din’dt move or speak for 2 hour. This lift will arrived in 30 min.
Cyaneyed: “………….”
Method Cobra: Well shit man I’m guess you’re piss at me but I dunno Cyaneyed what I did? It not my fault this fool arrived to take this car.
Cyaneyed: “………….”
Method Cobra: Man I give up at this.
Cyaneyed sighs with relief, not audibly, but just loud enough that he hears it himself and feels the effort vindicated. He looks back at the station, then realises his feet, legs and entire back hurt like hell. The human body is not made for standing still hours on end. He starts to walk in circles, and can physically feel the blood moving within his feet as they start to develop pins and needles. His back aches terribly as he walks in circles, and cracks audibly as he attempts to stretch outwards. Method Cobra looks up in surprise, but Cyaneyed tries not to acknowledge him.
Since his childhood, Cyaneyed had had this odd physical reaction to anger or displeasure. It had certainly not helped him in growing up. For instance, with girls. There had been Mandy. The pair had been inseparable, but Cyaneyed killed their relationship. For all their happy times, there was a bad time. If she did something he didn’t like, he made it so clear, she had no choice but to notice. Eventually, this manifested itself as manipulation. She had felt he was trying to change her, that he was overbearing and didn’t accept who she was anymore. So the silences started. Every time he disliked something, he would go silent. Sometimes this would last for hours. This was perhaps ten times worse than expressing dislike for something, because it left Mandy wondering for hours what she had done, as they would sit in silence. She would sit crying, thinking she had done something wrong. Eventually, though, sadness turned to anger. Silences were met not with pity, not with empathy, but rather with indifference or anger. It was these episodes which drove them apart. Somewhere in his heart, he still cried for her. He knew she was in the world, she’d loved since him, probably lost since him, and was probably loving right now. The thought made him happy, but also sad. To say an ex partner was happy to see his ex with someone else was always a statement full of insincerity. Somewhere deep in each man lay the desire to be with them again. It wasn’t always obvious, but it was always there. He carried this pain like a badge of honour, stitched to his heart. Someday, he hoped, the pain would go.
However, one thing not going, was his nature. He couldn’t kill off his own imperfections. So Method Cobra would have to put up with him until the events previous had finally sunk into his brain and been processed properly. So live with it, he thought. I just had my car stolen. Fuck you, anyway. You made me wait hours in the middle of nowhere, just so I could come out here and be fucked over by some Vegito wannabe. For all I know you knew this was going to happen. So fuck you Method Cobra, fuck you. I need to get this out of my head, and until I do, I don’t give a fuck if I upset you.
Method Cobra: Man did you want to talk now?
Cyaneyed tensed up at the sound of Method Cobra’s voice. Of course, he wasn’t aware of Cyaneyed’s subconscious mind, his anger, his sorrow, in fact they had only been introduced through a friend very recently. Yet still, that voice. That deep, French-Canadian tone. Every time he heard it, he felt like screaming, or punching the thing closest to him. He knew he had to calm down. This was a friend, not an enemy. It’s Morbid Angel you’re pissed off at, not Method Cobra. Morbid Angel. Remember that. No matter how many times he told himself that, the anger would not shift.
Method Cobra: Well I guess this answer it no. Man I dunno what I did but..
Cyaneyed: FUCKING HELL!
Method Cobra: What? Whaaaaaaaaaat?!?!?!
Cyaneyed blinked, not quite knowing why he had just shouted out loud. At any rate, it had made him feel a little bit better. Method Cobra was looking at him, his face slightly white, not knowing what to say next. Say nothing, Cyaneyed thought. Say nothing, stop pestering me, and maybe this thing will shift quicker.
Method Cobra: Well I guess you’re piss at Morbid and me too man he steal this f*ck car of my friend is suck this.
Cyaneyed takes a short breath, and lets it out sharply through pursed lips. His teeth clench as Method Cobra continues to seek his attention. With every word from Method Cobra’s mouth, Cyaneyed bites down a little harder.
Method Cobra: What I did man? Come on tell me this cos I din’dt mean to make you piss man.
Cyaneyed: Simon, shut the hell up. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little pissed off right now. I just had my car stolen and I have to stand around here waiting for hours listening to you going on and on, just shut the hell up. I have too much on my mind to be involving myself in pointless banter with you.
Method Cobra: man it no need to be pissed at me. It not me who stole this car.
Cyaneyed lets out a sigh, realising that Method Cobra has no idea what he just said, and can’t look past his own ego and think about what Cyaneyed was feeling or thinking. Some kind of egocentrism. Oh well, he thought. I’ll just ignore him, maybe he’ll get tired of his own voice.
As Cyaneyed stands contemplating another unbearable hour with Method Cobra, salvation arrives. A pale blue sedan pulls up beside the station, and beckons the pair inside. Method Cobra gets in the front seat, and enquires about his bike. The driver mentions that it will be towed in tomorrow morning. Fine, he says, and does up his seatbelt. Cyaneyed sits cramped in the back seat, and does his best to seem sociable with the driver as the journey begins.
I: Never Make Assumptions
The day was long. Longer than normal, or so it seemed. Maybe this was what it was like for everyone.
Cyaneyed sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was sat on the side of a large double bed, atop a light blue quilt, decorated with thin lines of red and large flowery patters of blue, shaded a touch deeper than the rest of the quilt to stand out. Surprisingly though, he wasn’t analysing the quilt cover as he got to his feet and made himself a glass of water in the en suite. Cyaneyed looks into the mirror, and puffs out his cheeks, exhaling slowly. Today had been a strange one. He looks down at his watch; it reads as 02:40 AM on the small digital display. Cyaneyed rests his palms over the sink basin, and looks into his own eyes. They are lightly blue-green, to the uneducated, but to anyone intelligent, they are obviously cyan. Of course, he isn't analysing himself. Thoughts of the past day flood through his mind, and he closes his eyes, leaning his body forwards so that his forehead is resting against the glass of the mirror-cum-cabinet before him. His teeth clench, as if he is in pain, but his eyes do not screw up, they remain closed, still and composed. He takes a long, deep breath, and opens his eyes again, looking blankly for a moment, and looks back to the cabinet. He opens it up, and takes out a glass, filling it with water and walking back into the bedroom. The room is dark, but not terribly so. A dim lamp does a meek job of illuminating one corner, and makes it possible to see the room in the main. Cyaneyed sits down on the bed, and takes a sip of his drink, sets down the glass on a bedside table, and lays back.
Cyaneyed’s said:
[..Cyaneyed looks at Method Cobra quickly, and slips outside. Morbid Angel is sat in the driver's seat of Cyaneyed's car, and sees Cyaneyed and Method Cobra emerge..][..Morbid Angel: Nice wheels, bitch!
Cyaneyed: What the f..
Morbid Angel: f**k! As in...GOOD f**k**g BYE!
..][..Morbid Angel slams the car into gear, and speeds off, with 'Te Quiero Puta' playing at full volume..][..
Cyaneyed: *silence* ............Who the Hell was that?
Method Cobra: It my godd**n nemesis
Cyaneyed: Shadow?
Method Cobra: No Morbid Angel.
Morbid Angel. That name had stuck with him all day. Morbid Angel. Sounded like some kind of poor death metal band. That or this guy was just another ‘dark’ guy. Cyaneyed was new to the ring, but he wasn’t new to the industry. He’d watched over several establishments in the past, and all of them housed such individuals. The guys classed as ‘dark’. They would come out in the dark, dress in black, play with fire, talk about spirits and demons, and nearly always have a tombstone or a chokeslam as their finishing manoeuvre. This guy appeared to have all the hallmarks of a dark character. But if there was one thing Cyaneyed had learned from his own past, it was that you never make assumptions. Make a poor assumption and you start to believe it. Believe your own assumptions and you will miss the truth.
Cyaneyed sits up, and shuffles back on the bed, leaning against the bed rest, his head leant slightly far back so it touches the wall. His fingers tap against his thighs, and he starts reflecting on events that occurred afterwards.
II: Recollections
Cyaneyed stood beside Method Cobra, his jaw hanging from its hinges loosely, unable to lift itself as his brain was still in shock. Method Cobra was pacing around him, clicking his fingers and clapping, but Cyaneyed was in a daze. Beneath his veiled expression, his mind was racing. His heart pounded. His breathing remained normal. If he stayed as he was much longer, he’d probably have a stroke.
*Slap*
Method Cobra slaps Cyaneyed around the back of his head. Slowly, Cyaneyed blinks and snaps out of his daze. He looks at Method Cobra, and around his location. It’s dark now, so the surroundings are dark and shrouded, as well as bleak and empty. The light in the gas station is still on, the filament must be ancient but somehow it is still operational. Cyaneyed takes a look at Method Cobra again, and he is shaking his head, muttering in French. It must be late now. Can’t be long until the lift arrives, right? Cyaneyed reassures himself with that notion as he crosses his arms, trying to stay warm as the cold desert smites him with a swift, icy breeze. Method Cobra gets on his bike, and sits on it backwards, facing Cyaneyed.
Method Cobra: Man it f*ck this. I’m din’dt believe this.
Cyaneyed: “………….”
Method Cobra: Did you agreed to this man? This man Morbid it a fool. I’m about ready to whomps the ass at this fool. Did you got a aggression Cyaneyed? Or it no?
Cyaneyed: “…………..”
Method Cobra: Shit man I thought I snap you out of this. I guess I to slap you again.
Cyaneyed: Don’t even think about it.
Method Cobra: Oh! OH! You are awake hehe. Well what up. Man you din’dt move or speak for 2 hour. This lift will arrived in 30 min.
Cyaneyed: “………….”
Method Cobra: Well shit man I’m guess you’re piss at me but I dunno Cyaneyed what I did? It not my fault this fool arrived to take this car.
Cyaneyed: “………….”
Method Cobra: Man I give up at this.
Cyaneyed sighs with relief, not audibly, but just loud enough that he hears it himself and feels the effort vindicated. He looks back at the station, then realises his feet, legs and entire back hurt like hell. The human body is not made for standing still hours on end. He starts to walk in circles, and can physically feel the blood moving within his feet as they start to develop pins and needles. His back aches terribly as he walks in circles, and cracks audibly as he attempts to stretch outwards. Method Cobra looks up in surprise, but Cyaneyed tries not to acknowledge him.
Since his childhood, Cyaneyed had had this odd physical reaction to anger or displeasure. It had certainly not helped him in growing up. For instance, with girls. There had been Mandy. The pair had been inseparable, but Cyaneyed killed their relationship. For all their happy times, there was a bad time. If she did something he didn’t like, he made it so clear, she had no choice but to notice. Eventually, this manifested itself as manipulation. She had felt he was trying to change her, that he was overbearing and didn’t accept who she was anymore. So the silences started. Every time he disliked something, he would go silent. Sometimes this would last for hours. This was perhaps ten times worse than expressing dislike for something, because it left Mandy wondering for hours what she had done, as they would sit in silence. She would sit crying, thinking she had done something wrong. Eventually, though, sadness turned to anger. Silences were met not with pity, not with empathy, but rather with indifference or anger. It was these episodes which drove them apart. Somewhere in his heart, he still cried for her. He knew she was in the world, she’d loved since him, probably lost since him, and was probably loving right now. The thought made him happy, but also sad. To say an ex partner was happy to see his ex with someone else was always a statement full of insincerity. Somewhere deep in each man lay the desire to be with them again. It wasn’t always obvious, but it was always there. He carried this pain like a badge of honour, stitched to his heart. Someday, he hoped, the pain would go.
However, one thing not going, was his nature. He couldn’t kill off his own imperfections. So Method Cobra would have to put up with him until the events previous had finally sunk into his brain and been processed properly. So live with it, he thought. I just had my car stolen. Fuck you, anyway. You made me wait hours in the middle of nowhere, just so I could come out here and be fucked over by some Vegito wannabe. For all I know you knew this was going to happen. So fuck you Method Cobra, fuck you. I need to get this out of my head, and until I do, I don’t give a fuck if I upset you.
Method Cobra: Man did you want to talk now?
Cyaneyed tensed up at the sound of Method Cobra’s voice. Of course, he wasn’t aware of Cyaneyed’s subconscious mind, his anger, his sorrow, in fact they had only been introduced through a friend very recently. Yet still, that voice. That deep, French-Canadian tone. Every time he heard it, he felt like screaming, or punching the thing closest to him. He knew he had to calm down. This was a friend, not an enemy. It’s Morbid Angel you’re pissed off at, not Method Cobra. Morbid Angel. Remember that. No matter how many times he told himself that, the anger would not shift.
Method Cobra: Well I guess this answer it no. Man I dunno what I did but..
Cyaneyed: FUCKING HELL!
Method Cobra: What? Whaaaaaaaaaat?!?!?!
Cyaneyed blinked, not quite knowing why he had just shouted out loud. At any rate, it had made him feel a little bit better. Method Cobra was looking at him, his face slightly white, not knowing what to say next. Say nothing, Cyaneyed thought. Say nothing, stop pestering me, and maybe this thing will shift quicker.
Method Cobra: Well I guess you’re piss at Morbid and me too man he steal this f*ck car of my friend is suck this.
Cyaneyed takes a short breath, and lets it out sharply through pursed lips. His teeth clench as Method Cobra continues to seek his attention. With every word from Method Cobra’s mouth, Cyaneyed bites down a little harder.
Method Cobra: What I did man? Come on tell me this cos I din’dt mean to make you piss man.
Cyaneyed: Simon, shut the hell up. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little pissed off right now. I just had my car stolen and I have to stand around here waiting for hours listening to you going on and on, just shut the hell up. I have too much on my mind to be involving myself in pointless banter with you.
Method Cobra: man it no need to be pissed at me. It not me who stole this car.
Cyaneyed lets out a sigh, realising that Method Cobra has no idea what he just said, and can’t look past his own ego and think about what Cyaneyed was feeling or thinking. Some kind of egocentrism. Oh well, he thought. I’ll just ignore him, maybe he’ll get tired of his own voice.
As Cyaneyed stands contemplating another unbearable hour with Method Cobra, salvation arrives. A pale blue sedan pulls up beside the station, and beckons the pair inside. Method Cobra gets in the front seat, and enquires about his bike. The driver mentions that it will be towed in tomorrow morning. Fine, he says, and does up his seatbelt. Cyaneyed sits cramped in the back seat, and does his best to seem sociable with the driver as the journey begins.
