Post by Cormack MacNeill on Feb 9, 2014 11:26:43 GMT -5
Tuesday, February 4, 2014, 0630 hrs
The scene opens on a long hallway. The worn wood walls and the floors, both faded but scrubbed and polished with care, tell us that once again we are at the Church training facility.
The voluptuous figure of Isla Stennet-Smith slinks into frame. Her curves are packed tightly into a leather suit, reminiscent of Catwoman. Mmmmm...Catwoman...wait where was I. Right. Isla. She carries a fire hose, and our intrepid readers will know what comes next. She moves to a doorway at the end of the hall, and with much trepidation prepares to kick it open and release the hose. She steps forward, dainty foot poised to impact the door.
At that very moment, the door swings inward, revealing the smiling face of Cormack MacNeill. With an nod he strolls out of the doorway and past our heroine into the hallway.
'Good Morning lassie. No one should look that good this early in the morning. What do you do? Get up at 4 just to squeeze into that thing?'
Isla blushes in response, and straightens herself, standing taller and a little prouder.
'4:30 if you must know Mr MacNeill. And how early do you rise in order to thwart my wake-up calls?'
Cormack shares a smile, one tinged with mirth.
'I wake up at 5 lassie, but I rise every time I hear those heels walking down the hall.'
He turns and walks past her, moving down the hallway. Isla turns on her heel and walks quickly past him, heading for the safety of her room, her cheeks in full blush. MacNeill watches her march down the hallway. With a smile to himself, he turns and heads for some breakfast. As the scene fades out, we can hear MacNeill mutter something under his breath.
'She keeps dressing like that, I'm gonna need a bigger kilt'
Fade out
Thursday, February 6, 2014, 1500 hrs
The scene opens in Church's gym. The white on white ring takes up the center portion of the room, and we find Cormack MacNeill and James Church in that ring. They are both leaning against the ropes, deep in conversation
'Are you sure you want to approach the match like this Mack?'
'Yes James I'm sure. I'm not out to win this time, I'm out to make a point. Sequitas needs to make an impact. This one's for the team.'
'All right then. Here, take these. They've helped me in a million matches, this Sunday, they can help you make a point.'
Church hands him a small box. With a sense of curiosity, MacNeill opens the box, revealing a set of brass knuckles. A slow grin spreads over his face.
'Now let me show you how to use them in the match.'
Church calls over one of the training partners, a long, lean brunette kid. He's dressed himself as requested, in jeans and a leather biker's vest. He resembles Chase Michaels, possibly after a 5 day heroin binge. There are probably pictures out there tom compare.
'Now, what's you name son?'
'Billy Marks, Mr. Church.'
'OK Billy, let's start off in a collar-and-elbow hookup. Then I want you to take me down, best way you know how.'
'OK, Mr. Church.'
They lock up, and Billy wastes no time in taking Church over in a side headlock. Church rolls him onto his shoulders, motioning for Cormack to act as referee. MacNeill drops down and begins a count.
1..
Church lifts his knee, and slips a hand into his boot
2...
Church lowers his knee as Billy kicks back over into the side headlock
James moves to a kneeling position, still locked in the side headlock by Billy. With his back to MacNeill, he wraps his right arm around billy for leverage, and as he brings them to a standing position, throws a couple of short inside punches to Billy's rib cage, knocking the wind from him, and leaving a noticeable red welt. Church spins into a front face lock, driving his brass covered knuckles into Billy's jaw in what looks like an European uppercut, stunning the kid. Quickly switching into a suplex hold, he hooks the leg and brings him over in a snap fisherman's suplex, holding for the pin.
1..
2..
3...
Church releases him and rolls away. Billy still lays on the mat, seemingly unconscious.
MacNeill nods his head admiringly.
'I never saw you hit him with them, never saw you get them from your boot....until now.'
'That's the point Mack. You have a powerful punch, but with this, it's a knockout every time.'
He handed the brass knuckles to Cormack.
'Now you try.'
Fade out
Sunday, February 9, 2014, 1100 hrs
Static fills the screen. More of that old fashioned 'snow'. As the image clears we see James Church sitting in an overstuffed chair, the leather worn to a ruddy glow. He's dressed impeccably in a black suit, and on the arm of his chair sits Isla, that red-headed siren of the morning surprises. She's dressed in a black suit, and even in pants, the seams are losing the final battle. She smiles demurely at the camera as James begins to speak.
'I know this is usually Cormack's time. But when he left early yesterday morning, he asked me to deliver a message for him at this time. You see, he needed to meet with his Sequitas mates, to discuss a strategy. Something big I understand. Well, I won'y tip my hat, let the cat out of the bag so to speak. I'll let them do that in their own time and in their own way.'
He shifts in his seat, gaze turning to Isla.
'And Isla is here for moral support, and let's face it...if it was just me sitting here, you would have turned your television off two seconds into my speech. So consider her a decoration, a tool to be used. But not by the likes of you peasants.'
Isla smiled at that, and stood up straight and tall, twirling around slowly and giving us an eyeful of the pressure her seams and buttons are under.
'You see, Isla is born of royalty. Her forefathers are Dukes and Earls. Her pedigree is as long as the Great Wall, and her blood as blue as the sky. So banish those thoughts from your filthy minds. She is destined to marry greatness. And to marry someone with a pedigree as royal as hers.'
He leaned forward in his chair, a sneer on his face.
'Here's the message I was asked to deliver. Chase Michaels, you are nothing but a stepping stone, a point between Cormack and greatness. Tonight the world will see just what Sequitas is capable of, what a group of overworked, underpaid, under appreciated men can do. And for those who do not like what they see, the message is simple. Blame Twilight. Blame Price. Blame Pantheon. When your ring has turned into a battlefield, when your city has turned into a war zone, remember who to blame.'
'And Michaels, tonight Cormack will destroy you. Leave you lying in the ring. He assures me its just business, nothing personal. So when you are lying there, screaming to the arena lights....remember who to blame.'
Fade to black
The scene opens on a long hallway. The worn wood walls and the floors, both faded but scrubbed and polished with care, tell us that once again we are at the Church training facility.
The voluptuous figure of Isla Stennet-Smith slinks into frame. Her curves are packed tightly into a leather suit, reminiscent of Catwoman. Mmmmm...Catwoman...wait where was I. Right. Isla. She carries a fire hose, and our intrepid readers will know what comes next. She moves to a doorway at the end of the hall, and with much trepidation prepares to kick it open and release the hose. She steps forward, dainty foot poised to impact the door.
At that very moment, the door swings inward, revealing the smiling face of Cormack MacNeill. With an nod he strolls out of the doorway and past our heroine into the hallway.
'Good Morning lassie. No one should look that good this early in the morning. What do you do? Get up at 4 just to squeeze into that thing?'
Isla blushes in response, and straightens herself, standing taller and a little prouder.
'4:30 if you must know Mr MacNeill. And how early do you rise in order to thwart my wake-up calls?'
Cormack shares a smile, one tinged with mirth.
'I wake up at 5 lassie, but I rise every time I hear those heels walking down the hall.'
He turns and walks past her, moving down the hallway. Isla turns on her heel and walks quickly past him, heading for the safety of her room, her cheeks in full blush. MacNeill watches her march down the hallway. With a smile to himself, he turns and heads for some breakfast. As the scene fades out, we can hear MacNeill mutter something under his breath.
'She keeps dressing like that, I'm gonna need a bigger kilt'
Fade out
Thursday, February 6, 2014, 1500 hrs
The scene opens in Church's gym. The white on white ring takes up the center portion of the room, and we find Cormack MacNeill and James Church in that ring. They are both leaning against the ropes, deep in conversation
'Are you sure you want to approach the match like this Mack?'
'Yes James I'm sure. I'm not out to win this time, I'm out to make a point. Sequitas needs to make an impact. This one's for the team.'
'All right then. Here, take these. They've helped me in a million matches, this Sunday, they can help you make a point.'
Church hands him a small box. With a sense of curiosity, MacNeill opens the box, revealing a set of brass knuckles. A slow grin spreads over his face.
'Now let me show you how to use them in the match.'
Church calls over one of the training partners, a long, lean brunette kid. He's dressed himself as requested, in jeans and a leather biker's vest. He resembles Chase Michaels, possibly after a 5 day heroin binge. There are probably pictures out there tom compare.
'Now, what's you name son?'
'Billy Marks, Mr. Church.'
'OK Billy, let's start off in a collar-and-elbow hookup. Then I want you to take me down, best way you know how.'
'OK, Mr. Church.'
They lock up, and Billy wastes no time in taking Church over in a side headlock. Church rolls him onto his shoulders, motioning for Cormack to act as referee. MacNeill drops down and begins a count.
1..
Church lifts his knee, and slips a hand into his boot
2...
Church lowers his knee as Billy kicks back over into the side headlock
James moves to a kneeling position, still locked in the side headlock by Billy. With his back to MacNeill, he wraps his right arm around billy for leverage, and as he brings them to a standing position, throws a couple of short inside punches to Billy's rib cage, knocking the wind from him, and leaving a noticeable red welt. Church spins into a front face lock, driving his brass covered knuckles into Billy's jaw in what looks like an European uppercut, stunning the kid. Quickly switching into a suplex hold, he hooks the leg and brings him over in a snap fisherman's suplex, holding for the pin.
1..
2..
3...
Church releases him and rolls away. Billy still lays on the mat, seemingly unconscious.
MacNeill nods his head admiringly.
'I never saw you hit him with them, never saw you get them from your boot....until now.'
'That's the point Mack. You have a powerful punch, but with this, it's a knockout every time.'
He handed the brass knuckles to Cormack.
'Now you try.'
Fade out
Sunday, February 9, 2014, 1100 hrs
Static fills the screen. More of that old fashioned 'snow'. As the image clears we see James Church sitting in an overstuffed chair, the leather worn to a ruddy glow. He's dressed impeccably in a black suit, and on the arm of his chair sits Isla, that red-headed siren of the morning surprises. She's dressed in a black suit, and even in pants, the seams are losing the final battle. She smiles demurely at the camera as James begins to speak.
'I know this is usually Cormack's time. But when he left early yesterday morning, he asked me to deliver a message for him at this time. You see, he needed to meet with his Sequitas mates, to discuss a strategy. Something big I understand. Well, I won'y tip my hat, let the cat out of the bag so to speak. I'll let them do that in their own time and in their own way.'
He shifts in his seat, gaze turning to Isla.
'And Isla is here for moral support, and let's face it...if it was just me sitting here, you would have turned your television off two seconds into my speech. So consider her a decoration, a tool to be used. But not by the likes of you peasants.'
Isla smiled at that, and stood up straight and tall, twirling around slowly and giving us an eyeful of the pressure her seams and buttons are under.
'You see, Isla is born of royalty. Her forefathers are Dukes and Earls. Her pedigree is as long as the Great Wall, and her blood as blue as the sky. So banish those thoughts from your filthy minds. She is destined to marry greatness. And to marry someone with a pedigree as royal as hers.'
He leaned forward in his chair, a sneer on his face.
'Here's the message I was asked to deliver. Chase Michaels, you are nothing but a stepping stone, a point between Cormack and greatness. Tonight the world will see just what Sequitas is capable of, what a group of overworked, underpaid, under appreciated men can do. And for those who do not like what they see, the message is simple. Blame Twilight. Blame Price. Blame Pantheon. When your ring has turned into a battlefield, when your city has turned into a war zone, remember who to blame.'
'And Michaels, tonight Cormack will destroy you. Leave you lying in the ring. He assures me its just business, nothing personal. So when you are lying there, screaming to the arena lights....remember who to blame.'
Fade to black
