Post by Cormack MacNeill on Feb 16, 2014 16:18:40 GMT -5
Tuesday, February 11, 2014 0630 hrs
The Church Training Compound
Scene opens on a now familiar hallway. Burnished wood walls and floor shine dully in the morning light that streams through the windows. Once again our intrepid heroine Isla Stennet-Smith is creeping along, her body adorned in a black wet suit, a sight both familiar and most welcome.
She creeps along the hallway, fire hose in hand, and our intrepid readers will know where she is headed. As Isla approaches the door to Cormack's room, she slow and listens. A dull droning can be heard behind the door, and a slow smile spreads across her face. 'I've got him this time,' she thinks to herself as she eases the door open. As the camera pans to see within the room, she opens up the fire hose, blasting the bed in the center of the room. A quick flash of bare arse is all we can see (thankfully) as Cormack ducks for cover on the other side of the bed.
'Breakfast in 20 Mr. MacNeill,' says Isla as she smiles sweetly.
Cormack peeks over the edge of the bed and glares at her with a mixture of lust and unconcealed hate.
'Got it lassie. I'll be there. Now go away!'
'Of course Mr. MacNeill. Oh, and Mr. Church asked me to give this to you.'
She threw a package towards the bed, but past it, causing MacNeill to reach out and grab it. But in doing so, he lost his balance, and his cover, and fell backwards onto the wet floor. Realizing his predicament, he dropped the package onto his...um, package, and shooed her away.
And the scene fades out, Isla's mirthful voice can be heard.
'The water wasn't THAT cold, was it Mr. MacNeill?'
Thursday, February 13, 2014 1300 hrs
Church's Training Compound - Gym
The scene opens on Cormack MacNeill standing in the center of an otherwise empty ring. He is dressed in his finest gear, kilt and boots, t-shirt as well, this one a tour shirt for The Real Mackenzies. James Church stood outside the ring, dressed in casual slacks and a dress shirt, both black, and he was accompanied by a group of young men, all dressed in wrestling gear.
'Mack, you asked me to round up a dozen sparring partners. I've found them for you. Was there something you had in mind?'
Cormack looked over the group, nodding his approval.
'Yes, I do. Send in all twelve.'
'All twelve? Your training for a three-way match, not a battle royal.'
'Right. But ten of these men wouldn't match the caliber of a Night Rider. Maybe two would match the caliber of Fatel. So sending in all of them will give me the kind of workout I need heading into Sunday.'
Church shakes his head and points to the group of men.
'This...Night Rider character is worth ten of these trained young men? I find that hard to believe.'
'Believe it James. I might not know a technical wrestlers worth, and I might not know who has the best submissions, that's why I'm here with you. That's your expertise. What I do know is tough. And Rider is all kinds of tough. He's got lots of heart, and there's no quit n that laddie. That's what makes this a good tilt. It's going to be mano-a-mano. Two mastodons banging heads.'
'What about Fatel? What do you know about him?'
'Not much James. He's a big talker. Clearly he wants everyone to think he's a monster. Just like half a dozen other people on the roster. I haven't seen him prove it yet. Rider can back up what he says. So can I. Fatel....haven't seen it yet.'
'Now, send in the clowns....'
With that, MacNeill stepped back, and made a 'come on' motion with his hands. The twelve men rushed at the ring, all clamoring to get in first. A tall, lanky blonde got in first, only to eat a boot to the chops and go flying back over his compatriots heads. The next two in began trading blows with the big man, losing slowly as he looped lefts and rights to both sides, leaving them staggering.
A third ran up and drove MacNeill to his knees with a chop block. The rest of them saw the advantage and rushed in, raining punches and kicks down on the kneeling MacNeill. Suddenly, Cormack grabbed a foot, and shoved it away. With a start, he exploded up from his knees, taking the man in front of him and slamming him to the mat with a spine-buster. Spinning, he caught a right to the chin, simultaneously connecting with one of his own, knocking his opponent to the mat. The next one in threw a punch, which MacNeill ducked. He countered with a kick to the gut and a running knee to the chin, knocking him head over heels and to the mat.
He stared down the remaining eight, some now wondering why they showed up. Easy money they said, just some training they said. two men steeled up their nerve and charged in at Cormack, driving shoulders to his midsection and knocking him back into the corner. MacNeill bounced into the corner and back off with a double clothesline, dropping the two men to the mat. The remaining six all charged...
When the dust settled, Cormack MacNeill stood tall in the center of the ring, the mat around him littered with moaning men.
'Guess I should have asked for more guys.'
James just shook his head and began to help the men outside to their feet.
Scene fades out
Saturday, February 16, 2014 1930 hrs
The Alamo - San Antonio, Texas
Sunset is just beginning, and through the reddish light we can see Cormack MacNeill standing on the lawn of the Alamo Mission Chapel. He seems deep on thought, as if he's just absorbing the sacredness of the Shrine.
A voice over begins.
'On March 6, 1836, the men of the Alamo laid down their lives in the name of freedom. They stood against overwhelming odds, secure in the knowledge that death awaited them all. And they faced it with a stoic bravery that has resonated through time.'
Cormack begins to walk towards the Chapel, eyes still distant and misty. He halts about 50 yards away from the building. Turning to the camera, he holds out his hand in a stopping motion.
'Out of respect for the honored dead, we'll go no further. But just inside that building is a wall. And on that wall are plaques naming every man who made the sacrifice, who paid the final price for freedom. Crockett, Travis, Bowie, Austin, Houston...these men have become synonymous with that episode in Texas’ history. But there is an unsung hero, one who's name rests on that wall, but who's story has not been told in history books. His name...John MacGregor.'
'John MacGregor was born in Scotland, came to Canada when he was but 8. He grew up in a magical place called Prince Edward Island, a land of rolling hills and roaring seas. He roamed, as young men often do, before settling in at Nacogdoches, as did most of the players in the Alamo saga. There he joined the cause, a soldier for the Republic of Texas. A piper in a long line of pipers, for MacGregors were renowned pipers, with every generation having a son named John who embraced the pipes.'
'On the morning of March 6, Travis laid it out to them all. They could go and live, or they could stay and surely die. No one left that morning. And while the artillery laid down a barrage of hell-fire, and the enemy stormed the gates, MacGregor did what many of MacGregor ancestors did. He played his pipes. Like many before him, he played to raise the spirits of those on the walls, to give courage and resolve to those who stood against a nation. '
'In that proud tradition of Scottish pipers, John McGregor upheld the honor of his ancestors, and on March 6, 1836, passed into the ranks of legend.'
Cormack lowered his head. With a wave he dismissed the camera crew.
'It's time to pay my respects to the last true Warrior Piper in the only way that seems fitting. And I'd rather do it alone.'
Fade to black
The screen fades up from black. At a distance we can see Cormack MacNeill standing beside the Mission Chapel. In his arms is a set of bagpipes. He stares straight ahead as he plays, and the haunting melody comes to us on the breeze.
The scene fades to black again, with still the lilt of the pipes on the air.
The Church Training Compound
Scene opens on a now familiar hallway. Burnished wood walls and floor shine dully in the morning light that streams through the windows. Once again our intrepid heroine Isla Stennet-Smith is creeping along, her body adorned in a black wet suit, a sight both familiar and most welcome.
She creeps along the hallway, fire hose in hand, and our intrepid readers will know where she is headed. As Isla approaches the door to Cormack's room, she slow and listens. A dull droning can be heard behind the door, and a slow smile spreads across her face. 'I've got him this time,' she thinks to herself as she eases the door open. As the camera pans to see within the room, she opens up the fire hose, blasting the bed in the center of the room. A quick flash of bare arse is all we can see (thankfully) as Cormack ducks for cover on the other side of the bed.
'Breakfast in 20 Mr. MacNeill,' says Isla as she smiles sweetly.
Cormack peeks over the edge of the bed and glares at her with a mixture of lust and unconcealed hate.
'Got it lassie. I'll be there. Now go away!'
'Of course Mr. MacNeill. Oh, and Mr. Church asked me to give this to you.'
She threw a package towards the bed, but past it, causing MacNeill to reach out and grab it. But in doing so, he lost his balance, and his cover, and fell backwards onto the wet floor. Realizing his predicament, he dropped the package onto his...um, package, and shooed her away.
And the scene fades out, Isla's mirthful voice can be heard.
'The water wasn't THAT cold, was it Mr. MacNeill?'
Thursday, February 13, 2014 1300 hrs
Church's Training Compound - Gym
The scene opens on Cormack MacNeill standing in the center of an otherwise empty ring. He is dressed in his finest gear, kilt and boots, t-shirt as well, this one a tour shirt for The Real Mackenzies. James Church stood outside the ring, dressed in casual slacks and a dress shirt, both black, and he was accompanied by a group of young men, all dressed in wrestling gear.
'Mack, you asked me to round up a dozen sparring partners. I've found them for you. Was there something you had in mind?'
Cormack looked over the group, nodding his approval.
'Yes, I do. Send in all twelve.'
'All twelve? Your training for a three-way match, not a battle royal.'
'Right. But ten of these men wouldn't match the caliber of a Night Rider. Maybe two would match the caliber of Fatel. So sending in all of them will give me the kind of workout I need heading into Sunday.'
Church shakes his head and points to the group of men.
'This...Night Rider character is worth ten of these trained young men? I find that hard to believe.'
'Believe it James. I might not know a technical wrestlers worth, and I might not know who has the best submissions, that's why I'm here with you. That's your expertise. What I do know is tough. And Rider is all kinds of tough. He's got lots of heart, and there's no quit n that laddie. That's what makes this a good tilt. It's going to be mano-a-mano. Two mastodons banging heads.'
'What about Fatel? What do you know about him?'
'Not much James. He's a big talker. Clearly he wants everyone to think he's a monster. Just like half a dozen other people on the roster. I haven't seen him prove it yet. Rider can back up what he says. So can I. Fatel....haven't seen it yet.'
'Now, send in the clowns....'
With that, MacNeill stepped back, and made a 'come on' motion with his hands. The twelve men rushed at the ring, all clamoring to get in first. A tall, lanky blonde got in first, only to eat a boot to the chops and go flying back over his compatriots heads. The next two in began trading blows with the big man, losing slowly as he looped lefts and rights to both sides, leaving them staggering.
A third ran up and drove MacNeill to his knees with a chop block. The rest of them saw the advantage and rushed in, raining punches and kicks down on the kneeling MacNeill. Suddenly, Cormack grabbed a foot, and shoved it away. With a start, he exploded up from his knees, taking the man in front of him and slamming him to the mat with a spine-buster. Spinning, he caught a right to the chin, simultaneously connecting with one of his own, knocking his opponent to the mat. The next one in threw a punch, which MacNeill ducked. He countered with a kick to the gut and a running knee to the chin, knocking him head over heels and to the mat.
He stared down the remaining eight, some now wondering why they showed up. Easy money they said, just some training they said. two men steeled up their nerve and charged in at Cormack, driving shoulders to his midsection and knocking him back into the corner. MacNeill bounced into the corner and back off with a double clothesline, dropping the two men to the mat. The remaining six all charged...
When the dust settled, Cormack MacNeill stood tall in the center of the ring, the mat around him littered with moaning men.
'Guess I should have asked for more guys.'
James just shook his head and began to help the men outside to their feet.
Scene fades out
Saturday, February 16, 2014 1930 hrs
The Alamo - San Antonio, Texas
Sunset is just beginning, and through the reddish light we can see Cormack MacNeill standing on the lawn of the Alamo Mission Chapel. He seems deep on thought, as if he's just absorbing the sacredness of the Shrine.
A voice over begins.
'On March 6, 1836, the men of the Alamo laid down their lives in the name of freedom. They stood against overwhelming odds, secure in the knowledge that death awaited them all. And they faced it with a stoic bravery that has resonated through time.'
Cormack begins to walk towards the Chapel, eyes still distant and misty. He halts about 50 yards away from the building. Turning to the camera, he holds out his hand in a stopping motion.
'Out of respect for the honored dead, we'll go no further. But just inside that building is a wall. And on that wall are plaques naming every man who made the sacrifice, who paid the final price for freedom. Crockett, Travis, Bowie, Austin, Houston...these men have become synonymous with that episode in Texas’ history. But there is an unsung hero, one who's name rests on that wall, but who's story has not been told in history books. His name...John MacGregor.'
'John MacGregor was born in Scotland, came to Canada when he was but 8. He grew up in a magical place called Prince Edward Island, a land of rolling hills and roaring seas. He roamed, as young men often do, before settling in at Nacogdoches, as did most of the players in the Alamo saga. There he joined the cause, a soldier for the Republic of Texas. A piper in a long line of pipers, for MacGregors were renowned pipers, with every generation having a son named John who embraced the pipes.'
'On the morning of March 6, Travis laid it out to them all. They could go and live, or they could stay and surely die. No one left that morning. And while the artillery laid down a barrage of hell-fire, and the enemy stormed the gates, MacGregor did what many of MacGregor ancestors did. He played his pipes. Like many before him, he played to raise the spirits of those on the walls, to give courage and resolve to those who stood against a nation. '
'In that proud tradition of Scottish pipers, John McGregor upheld the honor of his ancestors, and on March 6, 1836, passed into the ranks of legend.'
Cormack lowered his head. With a wave he dismissed the camera crew.
'It's time to pay my respects to the last true Warrior Piper in the only way that seems fitting. And I'd rather do it alone.'
Fade to black
The screen fades up from black. At a distance we can see Cormack MacNeill standing beside the Mission Chapel. In his arms is a set of bagpipes. He stares straight ahead as he plays, and the haunting melody comes to us on the breeze.
The scene fades to black again, with still the lilt of the pipes on the air.
