Post by Raiden Ishimori on Oct 7, 2021 19:30:41 GMT -5
It’s the end of Chips Are Down! in Sin City and the remainder of the crowd is still filing out from The Gambler’s Den, talk running rampant about the last two matches and what went down within the ring. Finishing his closing remarks, Aleister switches off his headset and sets it aside before gathering his personal belongings from the commentary table and beginning to make his exit, though a buzz in his phone as he pulls it out suggests there is a detour to take on his way out.
Aleister: “God damn it Ronnie…”
He shakes his head, tucking his phone away in his pants’ pocket and striding up the ramp towards the back area. Pushing through the curtain, his gaze catches sight of a visibly exhausted Soul Hunter seated atop one of the storage boxes, hand loosely holding onto the World Heavyweight Championship in hand with a spaced out look in his eyes aimed at the floor.
Aleister, concerned: “...Soul?”
The champion snaps back to the current moment, head shaking as his grip tightens on the gold, pulling it closer to him in his lap.
Soul: “Y-yeah? What’s up Aleister?”
Despite his attempt to play it cool, it’s evident that something’s plaguing him. Given his most recent track record, this was his first win in nearly two months and despite retaining the title, the victory didn’t seem to be all that sweet. The co-owner goes to follow up but the intimidating form of Hunter Storms makes his way over, dressed in business casual attire, exchanging glances with Aleister that sends the man on his way in silence. Compared to his fellow Huntsman, Storms is without gold tonight, having lost it fairly in the ring to Valerie.
Storms: “Kingsley wants to talk to you.”
Soul turns his gaze away from his partner, slightly setting the championship aside as he heavily sighs.
Soul: “Why?”
Storms: “He didn’t say. Normally don’t question the boss’ reasons since I’d rather not know for the most part given how...enigmatic he is. He’s someone you really don’t ask stuff about unless you’re Orion.”
Another sigh escapes Soul, sliding off the box and taking the championship with him though he chooses to keep it held in hand rather than carry it over his shoulder.
Soul: “Let’s go then.”
Storms turns on his heel and begins leading the champion to the co-owner’s office, passing by Orion at the bar who offers the two a courteous wave while continuing to close down the bar for the night. Rounding the far corner, the two eventually come before the door leading into Solomon’s office, Storms rapping his knuckles against the metal for a brief moment. The door partially opens in turn, revealing Jormungandr within the dim light of the room before he pulls the door wide open to allow the two inside the office. Fenrir stands posted against the left-hand wall, arms folded across his chest as he seems to be giving an ear to Kingsley, nodding on occasion. The mood in the room quickly changes when the once masked owner catches sight of The Huntsmen, sitting up straight in his seat while motioning for Soul to take a seat.
Kingsley: “Surprised you managed to find him so quick, Storms.”
Storms, shrugging: “I caught wind of him when I heard him responding to Aleister.”
He folds his arms over his chest, brows furrowing.
Storms: “Business at hand though…”
Kingsley: “Right…”
Kingsley’s voice trails off for a bit as he leans back in his chair, steepling his hands against his chest as he shifts his jaw. Evidently, something was on his mind as he was contemplating on how to address it.
Kingsley: “Soul...presently, how are you feeling?”
Soul: “Not...great, in all honesty.”
Kingsley: “And that’s not including the post-match fatigue and such?”
Soul, nodding: “...Yeah.”
Soul’s gaze turns back to the championship in hand, almost with a sorrowful look.
Soul: “It...goes without saying that my performance in the ring as of late hasn’t been the greatest…”
Kingsley, shaking his head: “No, it hasn’t. To be honest, I was becoming concerned after your initial match with Draven when medical personnel almost had to carry you to the back after that public beating he gave you. Granted, you’ve gotten your payback against him now, but at the same time, tonight’s match obviously had the title on the line.”
Kingsley snaps his fingers, index pointing over to the championship in the youngster’s hands. He shakes his head, palm resting over a closed fist that he rests his chin atop of.
Kingsley: “Goes without saying that a track record like that isn’t something that people would expect from a prodigy of your caliber. It was definitely one thing to beat the likes of Death Trap twice back in the MCCW days, with the second bout earning you that title, but...something obviously hasn’t been clicking a whole lot since you beat Beesley back in August.”
Another sigh escapes him.
Kingsley: “...Which is why I was planning on a contingency if the result tonight didn’t end in your favor.”
Storms raises an inquisitive brow at the remark but Soul’s gaze simply remains fixated on the title in hand. Kingsley slightly nods his head towards Jormungandr, almost blending in the darker corners of the room thanks in part to his dark-colored attire.
Kingsley: “Had Draven won tonight and taken the gold, evidently The Huntsmen would be without gold for some time but Storms, I don’t have doubts in you getting some again in the future. It’s Soul that I’m more concerned about because of the aforementioned record. So, the plan was this for tonight if things didn’t work out: Soul would take a leave of absence in order to get some training in with Fenrir. In his place, Jormungandr would take his spot on the roster and fill both the slot and also still giving you a familiar tag partner should a tag match ever arise.”
Storms, confused: “Why Jorm though? Why not Fenrir? Surely he would want more of a go?”
Fenrir: “I’ve already had my fair share within that ring. Besides, Jorm’s been itching more to get back into the ring than I have.”
Jormungandr silently nods in confirmation.
Storms: “Okaaayy….so what now then?”
Kingsley: “I’m going to give Soul another chance...however…”
He heavily sighs.
Kingsley: “The contingency plan will still be upheld. The moment he loses the gold is the moment Jormungandr takes his place on the roster.”
Storms: “That seems hardly fair, Kingsley…”
Kingsley, faintly chuckling: “Storms, lest you forget, this is Sin City we’re in. It’s all about taking gambles in this industry. If Soul is able to prove me wrong enough times, I’ll write off the plan. For now though, it’s still going to be enforced if push comes to shove. Surely from your experience you know that your best can’t always come during important occasions. A champion-level player has to always be in form, regardless of the event. Any major slip while in form like this will more than likely draw ire from others, and I’d rather prevent that while it’s still possible so that Soul doesn’t go through what Nelly Angel did during his time in MCCW.”
Storms, sighing: “Fair point…”
Soul: “Can I go now?”
Kingsley: “Yeah. Go rest, Soul. You’re going to need it if you want to prove that you’re still of a champion caliber.”
Soul doesn’t even shake his head or nod, only simply getting up with the championship in hand and taking his leave from the room. Storms shakes his head at the scene, attention turning back over to Jormungandr who only stares back in turn.
Storms: “You know people are eventually going to figure out who you are under that, right? That is considering of course that you don’t show yourself before anyone can even take a guess at your actual identity.”
A faint chuckle escapes the Harbinger.
Jormungandr: “It doesn't matter to me. Regardless of how people find out, it will be a surprise one way or another. That much I can guarantee.”
Storms shrugs in turn while Jormungandr chuckles in turn. Business seemingly done, Kingsley turns his attention back over to Fenrir, seemingly picking up in his conversation where he left off with the masked bouncer whilst the recording comes to an end, screen fading to black.
Aleister: “God damn it Ronnie…”
He shakes his head, tucking his phone away in his pants’ pocket and striding up the ramp towards the back area. Pushing through the curtain, his gaze catches sight of a visibly exhausted Soul Hunter seated atop one of the storage boxes, hand loosely holding onto the World Heavyweight Championship in hand with a spaced out look in his eyes aimed at the floor.
Aleister, concerned: “...Soul?”
The champion snaps back to the current moment, head shaking as his grip tightens on the gold, pulling it closer to him in his lap.
Soul: “Y-yeah? What’s up Aleister?”
Despite his attempt to play it cool, it’s evident that something’s plaguing him. Given his most recent track record, this was his first win in nearly two months and despite retaining the title, the victory didn’t seem to be all that sweet. The co-owner goes to follow up but the intimidating form of Hunter Storms makes his way over, dressed in business casual attire, exchanging glances with Aleister that sends the man on his way in silence. Compared to his fellow Huntsman, Storms is without gold tonight, having lost it fairly in the ring to Valerie.
Storms: “Kingsley wants to talk to you.”
Soul turns his gaze away from his partner, slightly setting the championship aside as he heavily sighs.
Soul: “Why?”
Storms: “He didn’t say. Normally don’t question the boss’ reasons since I’d rather not know for the most part given how...enigmatic he is. He’s someone you really don’t ask stuff about unless you’re Orion.”
Another sigh escapes Soul, sliding off the box and taking the championship with him though he chooses to keep it held in hand rather than carry it over his shoulder.
Soul: “Let’s go then.”
Storms turns on his heel and begins leading the champion to the co-owner’s office, passing by Orion at the bar who offers the two a courteous wave while continuing to close down the bar for the night. Rounding the far corner, the two eventually come before the door leading into Solomon’s office, Storms rapping his knuckles against the metal for a brief moment. The door partially opens in turn, revealing Jormungandr within the dim light of the room before he pulls the door wide open to allow the two inside the office. Fenrir stands posted against the left-hand wall, arms folded across his chest as he seems to be giving an ear to Kingsley, nodding on occasion. The mood in the room quickly changes when the once masked owner catches sight of The Huntsmen, sitting up straight in his seat while motioning for Soul to take a seat.
Kingsley: “Surprised you managed to find him so quick, Storms.”
Storms, shrugging: “I caught wind of him when I heard him responding to Aleister.”
He folds his arms over his chest, brows furrowing.
Storms: “Business at hand though…”
Kingsley: “Right…”
Kingsley’s voice trails off for a bit as he leans back in his chair, steepling his hands against his chest as he shifts his jaw. Evidently, something was on his mind as he was contemplating on how to address it.
Kingsley: “Soul...presently, how are you feeling?”
Soul: “Not...great, in all honesty.”
Kingsley: “And that’s not including the post-match fatigue and such?”
Soul, nodding: “...Yeah.”
Soul’s gaze turns back to the championship in hand, almost with a sorrowful look.
Soul: “It...goes without saying that my performance in the ring as of late hasn’t been the greatest…”
Kingsley, shaking his head: “No, it hasn’t. To be honest, I was becoming concerned after your initial match with Draven when medical personnel almost had to carry you to the back after that public beating he gave you. Granted, you’ve gotten your payback against him now, but at the same time, tonight’s match obviously had the title on the line.”
Kingsley snaps his fingers, index pointing over to the championship in the youngster’s hands. He shakes his head, palm resting over a closed fist that he rests his chin atop of.
Kingsley: “Goes without saying that a track record like that isn’t something that people would expect from a prodigy of your caliber. It was definitely one thing to beat the likes of Death Trap twice back in the MCCW days, with the second bout earning you that title, but...something obviously hasn’t been clicking a whole lot since you beat Beesley back in August.”
Another sigh escapes him.
Kingsley: “...Which is why I was planning on a contingency if the result tonight didn’t end in your favor.”
Storms raises an inquisitive brow at the remark but Soul’s gaze simply remains fixated on the title in hand. Kingsley slightly nods his head towards Jormungandr, almost blending in the darker corners of the room thanks in part to his dark-colored attire.
Kingsley: “Had Draven won tonight and taken the gold, evidently The Huntsmen would be without gold for some time but Storms, I don’t have doubts in you getting some again in the future. It’s Soul that I’m more concerned about because of the aforementioned record. So, the plan was this for tonight if things didn’t work out: Soul would take a leave of absence in order to get some training in with Fenrir. In his place, Jormungandr would take his spot on the roster and fill both the slot and also still giving you a familiar tag partner should a tag match ever arise.”
Storms, confused: “Why Jorm though? Why not Fenrir? Surely he would want more of a go?”
Fenrir: “I’ve already had my fair share within that ring. Besides, Jorm’s been itching more to get back into the ring than I have.”
Jormungandr silently nods in confirmation.
Storms: “Okaaayy….so what now then?”
Kingsley: “I’m going to give Soul another chance...however…”
He heavily sighs.
Kingsley: “The contingency plan will still be upheld. The moment he loses the gold is the moment Jormungandr takes his place on the roster.”
Storms: “That seems hardly fair, Kingsley…”
Kingsley, faintly chuckling: “Storms, lest you forget, this is Sin City we’re in. It’s all about taking gambles in this industry. If Soul is able to prove me wrong enough times, I’ll write off the plan. For now though, it’s still going to be enforced if push comes to shove. Surely from your experience you know that your best can’t always come during important occasions. A champion-level player has to always be in form, regardless of the event. Any major slip while in form like this will more than likely draw ire from others, and I’d rather prevent that while it’s still possible so that Soul doesn’t go through what Nelly Angel did during his time in MCCW.”
Storms, sighing: “Fair point…”
Soul: “Can I go now?”
Kingsley: “Yeah. Go rest, Soul. You’re going to need it if you want to prove that you’re still of a champion caliber.”
Soul doesn’t even shake his head or nod, only simply getting up with the championship in hand and taking his leave from the room. Storms shakes his head at the scene, attention turning back over to Jormungandr who only stares back in turn.
Storms: “You know people are eventually going to figure out who you are under that, right? That is considering of course that you don’t show yourself before anyone can even take a guess at your actual identity.”
A faint chuckle escapes the Harbinger.
Jormungandr: “It doesn't matter to me. Regardless of how people find out, it will be a surprise one way or another. That much I can guarantee.”
Storms shrugs in turn while Jormungandr chuckles in turn. Business seemingly done, Kingsley turns his attention back over to Fenrir, seemingly picking up in his conversation where he left off with the masked bouncer whilst the recording comes to an end, screen fading to black.