Post by Alistair "Stainless" Steele on Jul 2, 2007 23:09:00 GMT -5
Steele had been picked up in an exquisite limousine early that morning outside the Legion, where he had apparently fallen asleep. He was in no shape to go anywhere, but Johnny and Roger came prepared for that. They brought him to the marina to use the shower facilities, and even gave him a bag with new clothes, necessities, and a rather large amount of cash.
Steele got cleaned up, properly bandaged his hand, and then began to put on his new attire. The jeans were surprisingly comfortable, and he fastened them with his infamous black belt. The newly polished belt buckle–a large chrome “S”–shimmered in the sunlight pouring in through the window of the facility.
Next came the boots; a brand new pair of steel-nosed work boots. Steele chuckled. Whoever these two men were, they certainly knew his taste in clothing. He pulled on the boots and laced them up, pulling the legs of his jeans down over them. He then reached into the bag and pulled out his familiar grey t-shirt.
No, not grey.
This one was jet black, and it was wrapped around something small and hard. Steele was taken aback a little; he never took well to change. He held up the shirt and stared at it for a minute, then unfolded it and let the small object fall into his hand.
It was a small Zippo lighter. Steele flicked it open and saw that it was made especially for him. The flame hole was shaped like an “S,” a nice little touch as far as he was concerned. He grinned and played with the lighter, flicking it open and shut as he tried on his new shirt.
Steele looked at himself in the mirror, and saw that his new clothing fit him like a slap in the mouth. He gloated in the mirror for a few minutes, reliving–if only for a moment–the life he once knew as an FCW wrestler. A great pride burned in his heart as he closed his eyes.
When he reopened them, he was standing in the center of the ring, dozens of lights pointed in his direction. He could hear the roar of the crowd in his ears as they rose to their feet and cheered and chanted his name. He looked down at the golden belt in his hands and he raised it in the air, drawing an incredible rise from the crowd. Steele was a champion...
And then it was gone. He was back in the shower facilities of the Lewisporte marina, alone. Gone was the sound of the cheering fans. Gone were the thousands of flashing camera lights. Everything was gone.
Including Reaper.
Steele thought about what Johnny and Roger told him. He’d give anything to step into that ring once again, and he’d be God damned if they didn’t hold their end of the bargain. He didn’t know who this Vagabond character was, but if it got him the location of Marcus Ash, then he’d gladly track him down.
He put the lighter down on the counter and filled up the sink with water to get a shave. He ran his hand across his face and changed his mind, deciding the scruff looked better on him. Steele put the shaving cream and razor back in the bag and pulled the plug in the sink, but when he reached to zip up the bag, his forearm touched the tip of the lighter which was still hot.
“Ah, fuck!” he exclaimed. He quickly pulled back his arm and inspected the burn. It was shaped like a small “S,” which Steele found intriguing. Another battle scar to add to the collection.
He decided he was as clean as he was going to be, and turned to walk back out to where Johnny and Roger were waiting. He must’ve been in there for an hour at least, but he didn’t care. Steele knew they weren’t going to leave without him, so he might as well make them wait.
As he turned to leave, something caught his eye in the mirror; something on the back of his shirt. How had he not noticed it before? Confused, Steele took his shirt off and turned it around, where flaming lettering was plastered across the back. His emerald eyes glinted with delight and he smiled mischievously as he read the words.
“Embrace the burn.”
Instinctively, Steele’s eyes wandered to his forearm, where the burn was starting to swell slightly and the area around it was blood red. It was tender as hell to the touch, but he didn’t mind that. He gently ran his fingers across the burn as he repeated the words again.
“Embrace the burn...”
Then, suddenly without warning, Steele did something that he hadn’t done in months, maybe years.
Steele laughed.
He found it fucking hysterical. He had spent close to a year trying to find a man who seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, and in one night everything turned around for Steele. Everything had somehow fallen into place. He had a purpose again, and this time he wouldn’t screw it up.
Steele checked his watch. 6:42 a.m. Time to go.
He put his new shirt back on and grabbed the lighter from the counter, placing it in his jeans pocket. He already had some ideas flowing through his head, and once he found Reaper, he’d put those ideas to good use.
One last check, Steele decided. He stood in front of the mirror, sized himself up one last time, and when he was satisfied with his appearance, he stuffed his old faded clothes into the duffel bag and headed out the door.
Johnny and Roger were leaning against the white limousine with the back door opened when Steele walked out of the marina. They wore the same suits they had on the night before, only this time they each had matching fedoras as well.
“You look like a new man, old chap,” Johnny commented as he lit a cigarette, using a Zippo lighter that was very similar to the one in Steele’s possession. “Now if you’re ready to go, we have a flight to catch.”
Roger was the first to enter the limo. “I hope you’ve found our little gift to you,” he said, pulling out the comb once again and slicking back his hair. Steele nodded and patted his pocket as he followed and took a seat across from him.
Johnny threw the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. He got into the car and sat next to Roger, closing the door. He knocked on the window behind him and it slid open.
“To the airport, Frank.”
The limousine pulled out of the marina parking lot and headed toward the town of Gander, a little more than half an hour away. Steele looked out the window at a clear blue sky, the sun just peeping over the horizon.
The forecast called for a beautiful day, and so far there were no disappointments.
Steele got cleaned up, properly bandaged his hand, and then began to put on his new attire. The jeans were surprisingly comfortable, and he fastened them with his infamous black belt. The newly polished belt buckle–a large chrome “S”–shimmered in the sunlight pouring in through the window of the facility.
Next came the boots; a brand new pair of steel-nosed work boots. Steele chuckled. Whoever these two men were, they certainly knew his taste in clothing. He pulled on the boots and laced them up, pulling the legs of his jeans down over them. He then reached into the bag and pulled out his familiar grey t-shirt.
No, not grey.
This one was jet black, and it was wrapped around something small and hard. Steele was taken aback a little; he never took well to change. He held up the shirt and stared at it for a minute, then unfolded it and let the small object fall into his hand.
It was a small Zippo lighter. Steele flicked it open and saw that it was made especially for him. The flame hole was shaped like an “S,” a nice little touch as far as he was concerned. He grinned and played with the lighter, flicking it open and shut as he tried on his new shirt.
Steele looked at himself in the mirror, and saw that his new clothing fit him like a slap in the mouth. He gloated in the mirror for a few minutes, reliving–if only for a moment–the life he once knew as an FCW wrestler. A great pride burned in his heart as he closed his eyes.
When he reopened them, he was standing in the center of the ring, dozens of lights pointed in his direction. He could hear the roar of the crowd in his ears as they rose to their feet and cheered and chanted his name. He looked down at the golden belt in his hands and he raised it in the air, drawing an incredible rise from the crowd. Steele was a champion...
And then it was gone. He was back in the shower facilities of the Lewisporte marina, alone. Gone was the sound of the cheering fans. Gone were the thousands of flashing camera lights. Everything was gone.
Including Reaper.
Steele thought about what Johnny and Roger told him. He’d give anything to step into that ring once again, and he’d be God damned if they didn’t hold their end of the bargain. He didn’t know who this Vagabond character was, but if it got him the location of Marcus Ash, then he’d gladly track him down.
He put the lighter down on the counter and filled up the sink with water to get a shave. He ran his hand across his face and changed his mind, deciding the scruff looked better on him. Steele put the shaving cream and razor back in the bag and pulled the plug in the sink, but when he reached to zip up the bag, his forearm touched the tip of the lighter which was still hot.
“Ah, fuck!” he exclaimed. He quickly pulled back his arm and inspected the burn. It was shaped like a small “S,” which Steele found intriguing. Another battle scar to add to the collection.
He decided he was as clean as he was going to be, and turned to walk back out to where Johnny and Roger were waiting. He must’ve been in there for an hour at least, but he didn’t care. Steele knew they weren’t going to leave without him, so he might as well make them wait.
As he turned to leave, something caught his eye in the mirror; something on the back of his shirt. How had he not noticed it before? Confused, Steele took his shirt off and turned it around, where flaming lettering was plastered across the back. His emerald eyes glinted with delight and he smiled mischievously as he read the words.
“Embrace the burn.”
Instinctively, Steele’s eyes wandered to his forearm, where the burn was starting to swell slightly and the area around it was blood red. It was tender as hell to the touch, but he didn’t mind that. He gently ran his fingers across the burn as he repeated the words again.
“Embrace the burn...”
Then, suddenly without warning, Steele did something that he hadn’t done in months, maybe years.
Steele laughed.
He found it fucking hysterical. He had spent close to a year trying to find a man who seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, and in one night everything turned around for Steele. Everything had somehow fallen into place. He had a purpose again, and this time he wouldn’t screw it up.
Steele checked his watch. 6:42 a.m. Time to go.
He put his new shirt back on and grabbed the lighter from the counter, placing it in his jeans pocket. He already had some ideas flowing through his head, and once he found Reaper, he’d put those ideas to good use.
One last check, Steele decided. He stood in front of the mirror, sized himself up one last time, and when he was satisfied with his appearance, he stuffed his old faded clothes into the duffel bag and headed out the door.
Johnny and Roger were leaning against the white limousine with the back door opened when Steele walked out of the marina. They wore the same suits they had on the night before, only this time they each had matching fedoras as well.
“You look like a new man, old chap,” Johnny commented as he lit a cigarette, using a Zippo lighter that was very similar to the one in Steele’s possession. “Now if you’re ready to go, we have a flight to catch.”
Roger was the first to enter the limo. “I hope you’ve found our little gift to you,” he said, pulling out the comb once again and slicking back his hair. Steele nodded and patted his pocket as he followed and took a seat across from him.
Johnny threw the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. He got into the car and sat next to Roger, closing the door. He knocked on the window behind him and it slid open.
“To the airport, Frank.”
The limousine pulled out of the marina parking lot and headed toward the town of Gander, a little more than half an hour away. Steele looked out the window at a clear blue sky, the sun just peeping over the horizon.
The forecast called for a beautiful day, and so far there were no disappointments.
