Post by Ren "Priest" Wagner on Jul 20, 2007 20:51:30 GMT -5
Ren Wagner stood silently on his balcony, staring down at the highway below him the stream of cars never seeming to slow even at this late hour. It was an unholy late hour, yet he couldn't sleep... He never seemed to these days... Not since he left Siberia. The weather here was so much different than his homeland, though it had been almost 30 today it was so chilled tonight that he was certain that there would be frost on the ground come morning.
Sighing softly he swirled the dark red wine in his glass, lost in memories of home. The chill reminded him of that night and staring down into the dark rippling liquid the memory came unbidden to his mind.
_______________________
Night had decended several hours ago over the city of Novosibirsk Siberia, the chill that had been predominant during the day quickly causing those who were caught in the darkness to wrap themselves in warming apparel. Those lining the streets on the outskirts barely felt the chill over the rush of excitement that coursed through their veins.. Barely heard the sounds of the night over the roar of a thousand car engines, nor felt the beat of their own hearts over the pounding the sound systems caused. Even the buildings seemed to vibrate with the excitement... ...or fear.
As the moon rose higher into the chilled night sky, races were won and lost and money changed hands. He arrived soon after midnight, just as the excitement and fun had started to reach its high point, his motorcycle seemingly out of place among the multitude of cars. Most of the racers and hanger-ons ignored him but some of them greeted him warmly, though none by name... Most people only knew him as Priest.
Leaving his bike parked in the small lane formed by the parked cars he strolled leasurly along the rows of want-to-be gangsters and posers, each holding tightly to their own small bit of sidewalk 'turf'. Only outsiders moved with abandon among the cars, exclaiming over this or that.. Or staking their hard earned money on their so called ability to drive.
He walked with a steady purpose, moving toward an old warehouse where the flashing of multicolored strobes lit up the windows. There in front of the building, sitting on the hood of a very expensive looking Porsche was the one man he didn't want to see. Serge was a tall man, and built like a brick house, dark black hair framing brilliantly blue eyes. He was as usually surrounded by his gaggle of followers, most just simple yes-men and whores that latched onto the most popular person at the moment. Serge was defiantly that...
The son of a hotel owner, he had money to burn, and using that money he had made a few connections that kept him in power in the racing scene... His most promising opponents often had 'accidents' before or during their big races. But it was the woman wrapped in his arms that drew his attention. Slender and pretty with raven hair that cascaded down her back, her body pressed tightly against his as her fingers trailed along his thigh. As she looked up at him with violet eyes, he thought they looked a little more vacant than the last time he had seen her, but that seemed to be normal with her.
At one point he had been attracted to her, but now she disgusted him... However Serge still hadn't forgotten that at one point she had chosen the poor priest's son over him. It often caused trouble, and one look at Serge's face told him he wasn't going to get out of a fight. As his two favorite goons of the week started forward, he met the eyes of the woman once more... The lost sight of her as a fist soared across his vision.
_______________________
A gentle moan brings him out of his silent reprieve, causing him to glance back into the room at the slender shape curled up under the sheet on his bed. Her silky red hair splashing over the pillows like a waterfall of blood. Leaning back against the raining he watches her from over the rim of his glass. She'd be gone in the morning like all the rest, just a bit of friendly company he had met while out on the town. Fort Mcmurray certainly didn't lack that...
However she would be gone and he wouldn't even remember her name past breakfast. "Poor girl...:
With a sigh and a shake of his head he takes a sip of his wine, savoring the taste on his tongue as he reaches into a nearby box, drawing out a slender cigar. He turns away from her and sits on the small chair sitting next to balcony table and leans back, throwing his feet up onto the table.
The glass makes a gentle clink as he sets it on the tabletop, his fingers digging around in the box until he finds a simple silver zippo lighter. Slipping the cigar between his lips Ren flips the top open and lightly flicks it. As sparks flash before his eyes he is suddenly reminded of another flash that had filled his eyes.
_______________________
The cameras were blinding, the reporters hovering outside the courthouse like vultures. They needed to know... The people DEMANDED to know what was happening. It wasn't anything especially new. One young man killed and another severely injured in a street brawl at a racing event. But the propaganda machine needed its scapegoat and bad examples. The press loved bad news.
Ren Wagner aka Priest, walked between two large police officers as they led him to the courthouse, guards before and behind them keeping the mob of reporters from swarming over them in a single smothering wave. They would hound him for weeks later... No matter that he got off on self defense charges. But they would push and pull. Try to drag that one piece of drt from his lips that they could use to make him seem the villain.
No one wanted a hero anymore.
Just villains...
Something he refused to be... ...
_______________________
Shaking the dark thoughts from his mind he inhales the sweet minty taste of his cigar and releases it in a small cloud above his head. "No one wants a hero..."
He coughs lightly with a soft mocking smirk on his face as he tries to forget his past and focus on the present... He had been in Fort Mcmurray for less than a week but already he had been privy to one oft he most perverse sports in the world. Wrestling...
And they were all utterly mad..
Ren gave a soft shake of his head once more and close his blue eyes, their pale color glowing in the moonlight. "My employer is absolutely deranged... A.. A lumber goat match.. A GOAT."
He takes another deep drag on his cigar before flicking it over the balcony and standing. He steps back into the room and stands at the edge of the bed, a slender form rolling towards him. "It was entertaining though.."
Smiling to himself he pushes the thoughts out of his mind and slips back into bed... He had best try and have some fun then get some sleep. Tomorrow he had a match.
Sighing softly he swirled the dark red wine in his glass, lost in memories of home. The chill reminded him of that night and staring down into the dark rippling liquid the memory came unbidden to his mind.
_______________________
Night had decended several hours ago over the city of Novosibirsk Siberia, the chill that had been predominant during the day quickly causing those who were caught in the darkness to wrap themselves in warming apparel. Those lining the streets on the outskirts barely felt the chill over the rush of excitement that coursed through their veins.. Barely heard the sounds of the night over the roar of a thousand car engines, nor felt the beat of their own hearts over the pounding the sound systems caused. Even the buildings seemed to vibrate with the excitement... ...or fear.
As the moon rose higher into the chilled night sky, races were won and lost and money changed hands. He arrived soon after midnight, just as the excitement and fun had started to reach its high point, his motorcycle seemingly out of place among the multitude of cars. Most of the racers and hanger-ons ignored him but some of them greeted him warmly, though none by name... Most people only knew him as Priest.
Leaving his bike parked in the small lane formed by the parked cars he strolled leasurly along the rows of want-to-be gangsters and posers, each holding tightly to their own small bit of sidewalk 'turf'. Only outsiders moved with abandon among the cars, exclaiming over this or that.. Or staking their hard earned money on their so called ability to drive.
He walked with a steady purpose, moving toward an old warehouse where the flashing of multicolored strobes lit up the windows. There in front of the building, sitting on the hood of a very expensive looking Porsche was the one man he didn't want to see. Serge was a tall man, and built like a brick house, dark black hair framing brilliantly blue eyes. He was as usually surrounded by his gaggle of followers, most just simple yes-men and whores that latched onto the most popular person at the moment. Serge was defiantly that...
The son of a hotel owner, he had money to burn, and using that money he had made a few connections that kept him in power in the racing scene... His most promising opponents often had 'accidents' before or during their big races. But it was the woman wrapped in his arms that drew his attention. Slender and pretty with raven hair that cascaded down her back, her body pressed tightly against his as her fingers trailed along his thigh. As she looked up at him with violet eyes, he thought they looked a little more vacant than the last time he had seen her, but that seemed to be normal with her.
At one point he had been attracted to her, but now she disgusted him... However Serge still hadn't forgotten that at one point she had chosen the poor priest's son over him. It often caused trouble, and one look at Serge's face told him he wasn't going to get out of a fight. As his two favorite goons of the week started forward, he met the eyes of the woman once more... The lost sight of her as a fist soared across his vision.
_______________________
A gentle moan brings him out of his silent reprieve, causing him to glance back into the room at the slender shape curled up under the sheet on his bed. Her silky red hair splashing over the pillows like a waterfall of blood. Leaning back against the raining he watches her from over the rim of his glass. She'd be gone in the morning like all the rest, just a bit of friendly company he had met while out on the town. Fort Mcmurray certainly didn't lack that...
However she would be gone and he wouldn't even remember her name past breakfast. "Poor girl...:
With a sigh and a shake of his head he takes a sip of his wine, savoring the taste on his tongue as he reaches into a nearby box, drawing out a slender cigar. He turns away from her and sits on the small chair sitting next to balcony table and leans back, throwing his feet up onto the table.
The glass makes a gentle clink as he sets it on the tabletop, his fingers digging around in the box until he finds a simple silver zippo lighter. Slipping the cigar between his lips Ren flips the top open and lightly flicks it. As sparks flash before his eyes he is suddenly reminded of another flash that had filled his eyes.
_______________________
The cameras were blinding, the reporters hovering outside the courthouse like vultures. They needed to know... The people DEMANDED to know what was happening. It wasn't anything especially new. One young man killed and another severely injured in a street brawl at a racing event. But the propaganda machine needed its scapegoat and bad examples. The press loved bad news.
Ren Wagner aka Priest, walked between two large police officers as they led him to the courthouse, guards before and behind them keeping the mob of reporters from swarming over them in a single smothering wave. They would hound him for weeks later... No matter that he got off on self defense charges. But they would push and pull. Try to drag that one piece of drt from his lips that they could use to make him seem the villain.
No one wanted a hero anymore.
Just villains...
Something he refused to be... ...
_______________________
Shaking the dark thoughts from his mind he inhales the sweet minty taste of his cigar and releases it in a small cloud above his head. "No one wants a hero..."
He coughs lightly with a soft mocking smirk on his face as he tries to forget his past and focus on the present... He had been in Fort Mcmurray for less than a week but already he had been privy to one oft he most perverse sports in the world. Wrestling...
And they were all utterly mad..
Ren gave a soft shake of his head once more and close his blue eyes, their pale color glowing in the moonlight. "My employer is absolutely deranged... A.. A lumber goat match.. A GOAT."
He takes another deep drag on his cigar before flicking it over the balcony and standing. He steps back into the room and stands at the edge of the bed, a slender form rolling towards him. "It was entertaining though.."
Smiling to himself he pushes the thoughts out of his mind and slips back into bed... He had best try and have some fun then get some sleep. Tomorrow he had a match.