Post by Donzig on Mar 19, 2022 22:28:05 GMT -5
The door swung open, and the hulking brutes of the Oblivion Death Squad stalked into the room. They looked around in confusion, and then drew aside as Sinclair Godfrey walked in with a faint smile. An approving nod, and then she turned as Donzig stalked inside. He jerked to a halt, hissing as his masked head tilted in confusion. Gone were the layers of dust, gone were the dirty glass cases filled with old tarnished titles. Even the pictures on the wall had been cleaned and restored, the old furniture covered by dust clothes were no longer there. The carpet beneath their feet was new, and Donzig looked around before his hand curled into a fist.
His masked face snapped towards Sinclair, who stared back at him before shrugging. 'This house was a disgrace. New Money was right, it needed to be cleaned up.'
Donzig stared, and Sinclair fell silent with a step backwards. It was never a good sign when the long winded Scourge was at a loss for words.
Drake came inside the door, he looked around with a grunt before he slammed the door shut. He reached inside of his jacket, sipping at his flask before he smirked. 'Reminds me of the good old days at least.'
Donzig turned his ire to Gavin Drake, and the big Brit shrugged. He was used to being in the line of fire of Donzig's rage. Sinclair started to speak, stepping forward before a hand snapped upwards. His fingers flicked, and he jerked his head towards the stairs. Donzig-gun withdrew, muttering amongst themselves as they climbed the stairs before Donzig crossed the room. His hand lifted, and he drew off his mask to let his gaze linger on the rows of old championships inside their cleaned and polished cases. A sniff, and he sat the mask done on the new and finely crafted coffee table.
He took a deep breath, reminding himself to breath. Once before in a previous life, what seemed like a thousand years ago someone had told him when you were angry you forgot to breath. That lack of air made it hard to think. And Donzig considered his mind one of his greatest weapons, he had learned long ago that he would not always be the biggest man in a fight, the most skilled, or the fastest. But he was clever, cunning when he put his mind to it. Everything he lacked in strength and size? Donzig made up for out of sheer will and spite.
But his mind was a machine, and so he took another deep breath forcing himself to inhale and exhale. Forcing the scream out of his mind.
He stared at the pictures, remembering.
Then he looked to where Sinclair had some pictures replaced, and his eyes narrowed as he saw they were pictures of his own career.
Him with the various forms of the Syndicate in BWA, him standing with the Jordan Four. Him and Anthony Jordan draped in gold, smirking at each other in the ring. So many old friends and foes, times best forgotten.
Anthony Jordan.
Alexis Morningstar.
Justin Voss.
His own hated family: Timothy Draven. Nicholas Draven. The Ringmaster.
There was even a picture of the family he made from his own will, the Affliction: Drake. Shelby. Frost.
Sinclair was bold. She had turned the tomb where he buried his past into a place of honor. The place where he had buried his past to rot had been brought back to new life. And he hissed, he found these memories painful. Donzig did not like to remember, he liked to live in a constant endless present, a grey fog of yesterdays lost and tomorrows unseen. He scowled, a hand lifting to smooth his beard as he turned from the pictures before he dropped down on the brand new couch.
Leather of course, Sinclair had good taste at least to his mind.
'This is Evan's fault.' Donzig decided, his fingers curling into a claw as he stared at the case. 'Him and his fucking New Money buffoons! If they had never come here, Sinclair wouldn't have taken it into her head to fix it! You think it is over between us, Evan? No, no, no. I am patient.'
He lifted a hand, wiping it across his mouth as he stared around sullenly. Donzig rose to his feet again, slowly pacing back and forth before the pictures of his family before he stared. 'And then we have Caffrey, I offered that man my friendship and he spat in my face. He brought me here and filled this place with my enemies, fucking Evan and his goons, that motherfucker Death Trap! What's next? Fox? Well, I will deal with Anthony Caffrey soon enough.'
Donzig tried to not to talk to himself, they said it was a sign of madness. Now many of course though the Scourge was insane, but he didn't see it that way. He was full of terrible purpose, and all things he did were to that end. That single end was dominion, was power, was the world laid low and exposed for the evil hellish place it truly was. And yet did he really speak to himself? He above all people knew there was always something listening, always watching. His gaze flickered towards his mask, and he smiled ever so slightly as he growled again.
'Yes, yes. But first we need to get our hands on the Spark title, I know they mean little to us! But to these others? They are a sign of status, and as such I will hold that fucking title over their heads like a bludgeon. And I will show them that Donzig-gun is not be taken lightly as I stand over the carcasses of Zepp and Apathy with the belt that Fizz cheated me out held high! And then we will go deal with New Money, and we will teach Anthony Caffrey what it means to reject us! And we will break Dave one more time, because that is who, and what we are, eh?'
Donzig paused, head tilting as he stared at the mask.
Of course, the mask didn't answer. It never did. It was just a mask.
Or was it?
'Apathy? Zepp? They don't seem to understand that I have never been pinned or submitted in Fireside.' A pause, and Donzig stared at the mask with a sniff. 'I don't know if that counts as a Fireside Match, Fox and I didn't actually work here then. And no, no, no, End of Days doesn't count either! But the point remains that I was robbed of that Spark Championship because of someone else's incompetency!'
Donzig fumed, and he waved a hand at the mask before he opened one of the cases. He reached inside to draw forth his grandfather's title, his fingers sliding across the polished surface before he sat down on the couch. He stared down at it, fingers absently tracing across the belt's designs as he was lost in thought. There was a knock at the door, and he turned as Sinclair Godfrey walked into the room. He stared at her, and she approached slowly before she settled into the chair nearby with a shrug. 'I am sorry. I just--'
Donzig waved a hand, sitting the belt aside. 'New Money doesn't understand, none of them do. What this place was? It meant something to another man, but that man is gone. It belongs to me now.'
Sinclair nodded with a slight frown, and Donzig gestured towards a small picture that sat inside of a case. A smaller belt sat inside, a belt for a woman and beside it sat a picture of him in a suit with an arm wrapped around Sinclair Godfrey who held that belt in her hand as she grinned at the camera. And Donzig met her gaze as she turned towards him, and he lifted his chin.
'That man matters to you. And you? Well.' Donzig fell silent, eyes troubled.
Sinclair said nothing, but gave a slow nod before she cleared her throat. 'I have some of your belts in the hallway, but they are replicas. I couldn't find the originals anywhere, even Drake is not sure where they are.'
Donzig rose, and he crossed the room to return his grandfather's title to the case. He closed the door leaning on it, and he stared hard at the reflection in the glass. And what was beyond it, Sinclair and the mask laying on the table. He shrugged, and looked back at her. 'I know where they are, Sinclair. But they don't matter, because they are a symbol. A warning of things to come, and I now know that these things? These pieces of gold? They are meaningless in the long run, they are empty tokens of a moment lost, but for that moment? They show that you matter, because some people? That is all they see. Do you understand?'
Sinclair thought about it, and then nodded with a faint smirk. 'The X-Crown Champion fell through the ceiling of this room, there's a moment.'
Donzig frowned, and he stared for a long moment at the ceiling before he shrugged. 'And he too will pay for his insolence along with his comrades, time will run out even for El Rey. Even now as it runs out for Apathy and Zepp, the Spark Title will belong to us. Soon.'
His masked face snapped towards Sinclair, who stared back at him before shrugging. 'This house was a disgrace. New Money was right, it needed to be cleaned up.'
Donzig stared, and Sinclair fell silent with a step backwards. It was never a good sign when the long winded Scourge was at a loss for words.
Drake came inside the door, he looked around with a grunt before he slammed the door shut. He reached inside of his jacket, sipping at his flask before he smirked. 'Reminds me of the good old days at least.'
Donzig turned his ire to Gavin Drake, and the big Brit shrugged. He was used to being in the line of fire of Donzig's rage. Sinclair started to speak, stepping forward before a hand snapped upwards. His fingers flicked, and he jerked his head towards the stairs. Donzig-gun withdrew, muttering amongst themselves as they climbed the stairs before Donzig crossed the room. His hand lifted, and he drew off his mask to let his gaze linger on the rows of old championships inside their cleaned and polished cases. A sniff, and he sat the mask done on the new and finely crafted coffee table.
He took a deep breath, reminding himself to breath. Once before in a previous life, what seemed like a thousand years ago someone had told him when you were angry you forgot to breath. That lack of air made it hard to think. And Donzig considered his mind one of his greatest weapons, he had learned long ago that he would not always be the biggest man in a fight, the most skilled, or the fastest. But he was clever, cunning when he put his mind to it. Everything he lacked in strength and size? Donzig made up for out of sheer will and spite.
But his mind was a machine, and so he took another deep breath forcing himself to inhale and exhale. Forcing the scream out of his mind.
He stared at the pictures, remembering.
Then he looked to where Sinclair had some pictures replaced, and his eyes narrowed as he saw they were pictures of his own career.
Him with the various forms of the Syndicate in BWA, him standing with the Jordan Four. Him and Anthony Jordan draped in gold, smirking at each other in the ring. So many old friends and foes, times best forgotten.
Anthony Jordan.
Alexis Morningstar.
Justin Voss.
His own hated family: Timothy Draven. Nicholas Draven. The Ringmaster.
There was even a picture of the family he made from his own will, the Affliction: Drake. Shelby. Frost.
Sinclair was bold. She had turned the tomb where he buried his past into a place of honor. The place where he had buried his past to rot had been brought back to new life. And he hissed, he found these memories painful. Donzig did not like to remember, he liked to live in a constant endless present, a grey fog of yesterdays lost and tomorrows unseen. He scowled, a hand lifting to smooth his beard as he turned from the pictures before he dropped down on the brand new couch.
Leather of course, Sinclair had good taste at least to his mind.
'This is Evan's fault.' Donzig decided, his fingers curling into a claw as he stared at the case. 'Him and his fucking New Money buffoons! If they had never come here, Sinclair wouldn't have taken it into her head to fix it! You think it is over between us, Evan? No, no, no. I am patient.'
He lifted a hand, wiping it across his mouth as he stared around sullenly. Donzig rose to his feet again, slowly pacing back and forth before the pictures of his family before he stared. 'And then we have Caffrey, I offered that man my friendship and he spat in my face. He brought me here and filled this place with my enemies, fucking Evan and his goons, that motherfucker Death Trap! What's next? Fox? Well, I will deal with Anthony Caffrey soon enough.'
Donzig tried to not to talk to himself, they said it was a sign of madness. Now many of course though the Scourge was insane, but he didn't see it that way. He was full of terrible purpose, and all things he did were to that end. That single end was dominion, was power, was the world laid low and exposed for the evil hellish place it truly was. And yet did he really speak to himself? He above all people knew there was always something listening, always watching. His gaze flickered towards his mask, and he smiled ever so slightly as he growled again.
'Yes, yes. But first we need to get our hands on the Spark title, I know they mean little to us! But to these others? They are a sign of status, and as such I will hold that fucking title over their heads like a bludgeon. And I will show them that Donzig-gun is not be taken lightly as I stand over the carcasses of Zepp and Apathy with the belt that Fizz cheated me out held high! And then we will go deal with New Money, and we will teach Anthony Caffrey what it means to reject us! And we will break Dave one more time, because that is who, and what we are, eh?'
Donzig paused, head tilting as he stared at the mask.
Of course, the mask didn't answer. It never did. It was just a mask.
Or was it?
'Apathy? Zepp? They don't seem to understand that I have never been pinned or submitted in Fireside.' A pause, and Donzig stared at the mask with a sniff. 'I don't know if that counts as a Fireside Match, Fox and I didn't actually work here then. And no, no, no, End of Days doesn't count either! But the point remains that I was robbed of that Spark Championship because of someone else's incompetency!'
Donzig fumed, and he waved a hand at the mask before he opened one of the cases. He reached inside to draw forth his grandfather's title, his fingers sliding across the polished surface before he sat down on the couch. He stared down at it, fingers absently tracing across the belt's designs as he was lost in thought. There was a knock at the door, and he turned as Sinclair Godfrey walked into the room. He stared at her, and she approached slowly before she settled into the chair nearby with a shrug. 'I am sorry. I just--'
Donzig waved a hand, sitting the belt aside. 'New Money doesn't understand, none of them do. What this place was? It meant something to another man, but that man is gone. It belongs to me now.'
Sinclair nodded with a slight frown, and Donzig gestured towards a small picture that sat inside of a case. A smaller belt sat inside, a belt for a woman and beside it sat a picture of him in a suit with an arm wrapped around Sinclair Godfrey who held that belt in her hand as she grinned at the camera. And Donzig met her gaze as she turned towards him, and he lifted his chin.
'That man matters to you. And you? Well.' Donzig fell silent, eyes troubled.
Sinclair said nothing, but gave a slow nod before she cleared her throat. 'I have some of your belts in the hallway, but they are replicas. I couldn't find the originals anywhere, even Drake is not sure where they are.'
Donzig rose, and he crossed the room to return his grandfather's title to the case. He closed the door leaning on it, and he stared hard at the reflection in the glass. And what was beyond it, Sinclair and the mask laying on the table. He shrugged, and looked back at her. 'I know where they are, Sinclair. But they don't matter, because they are a symbol. A warning of things to come, and I now know that these things? These pieces of gold? They are meaningless in the long run, they are empty tokens of a moment lost, but for that moment? They show that you matter, because some people? That is all they see. Do you understand?'
Sinclair thought about it, and then nodded with a faint smirk. 'The X-Crown Champion fell through the ceiling of this room, there's a moment.'
Donzig frowned, and he stared for a long moment at the ceiling before he shrugged. 'And he too will pay for his insolence along with his comrades, time will run out even for El Rey. Even now as it runs out for Apathy and Zepp, the Spark Title will belong to us. Soon.'