AS 44: Black Dragon vs. Steven Holmes (non title)

[Ty Burna]

Deadline is Tuesday, February 7th at 11:59 PM Central Time

 

[FunKay the Inevitable]

A hand glides across a map as we begin. The map is of the local area surrounding the Holmes compound with several locations dotted and circled in bright red. The hand sways across as we slowly pull out to see it belongs to a well dressed man. The man is of course, Steven Holmes. Holmes has a toothy grin that showcases his dark personality perfectly. He is clearly ecstatic about something. He is leaning on the table where the map is placed and stares at it intently. Suddenly, his focus is drawn away as a door opens. He looks at it, on edge, his smile now a look of concern. He is awaiting someone important it would seem. In steps John Constantine. Holmes’ manic grin returns.

Holmes: Excellent. Excellent!

Constantine looks at Holmes with a hint of confusion as he removes a large coat, damp from the obvious rainfall outside. He places an umbrella, also damp into its rightful holder as Holmes quickly scurries his way towards the “Powertrip”.

Holmes: Constantine, I think I’ve found him!

Constantine: Who?

Holmes’ look of elation disappears for a moment and he shakes his head. He retains a slight smile the entire time as he is simply too overjoyed to fully note Constantine’s lack of enthusiasm or understanding. Swiftly, Holmes moves across to his record player which still has that unmarked record in place. Constantine realises what he is referring to and stops before he is forced to listen to another moment of Ram Jam.

Constantine: Oh, I see. Yes, yes, Crashin.

Holmes: Exactly!

Holmes spins and raises his index finger to enhance the dramatics of his response. Constantine rolls his eyes before glancing over to the map.

Constantine: So where is he then?

Gliding over, Holmes uses the same index finger to point at one particular red dot.

Holmes: HERE!

Constantine nods, and looks, a little surprised by the close proximity to the compound. Suddenly, Holmes moves his finger across to yet another dot. The look of confusion returns to Constantine’s face.

Holmes: Or here!

He repeats this over all of the four or five other marked spots.

Holmes: Or here! Or here! Or here! Or here! Or even here!

Constantine peels his eyes from the finger of Holmes and looks directly at the man, distinctly unimpressed.

Constantine: You do realise this is an enormous amount of ground to cover? It will take you a significant amount of time to discover the exact location.

Holmes: Time is not the issue Mr. Constantine. The issue is recognising him once we finally do decipher where he’s holed up. He will no doubt be some sort of homeless tramp living in the dark and the destitute. He’s bankrupt for sure, that’s how I bought this complex from him.

Constantine: Surely if he’s homeless it makes it even more difficult to track him down.

Holmes: Oh contraire. You see, I have my people searching every nook and cranny in the city. A man fitting the description of Crashin was spotted in two of these locations and he’s known to linger around the others to. Tracking him down was simplicity defined. The only matter left for discussion is our confrontation shall take place. You and I shall certainly have to display our wealth.

Constantine: Uh, Holmes...

Holmes: Oh yes, I imagine a limousine pulling up would send a clear message to that wretched excuse for a man. He’ll understand what it feels to be demeaned by me.

Constantine: Holmes...

Holmes: Like the proverbial cockroach I will slowly place my foot across him until I have drained the entirety of his life force from his body. I will cast a shadow so long that he--

Constantine: HOLMES!

As John Constantine yells, Holmes stops midsentence. He is contorted into an odd fashion, his hands in a bizarre way and his face practically dripping with saliva at the prospect of this. Its obvious Holmes is relishing this potential meeting. He recomposes himself, realising he’s letting his fantasy get the best of him. He straightens himself up as he allows Constantine to speak.

Holmes: What is it Mr. Constantine?

Constantine: Well, I don’t think I should come with you. Crashin was nothing more than a thorn in my side that had to be cast aside. I did that and in some style as you may recall. He means nothing to me today, jest as he meant nothing once I had dispensed of him. This is clearly a personal issue for you, so a one-to-one confrontation is perhaps best, no?

Holmes is a little surprised by Constantine’s reaction, perhaps even a little hurt. A slightly upset look is quickly washed aside though as Holmes regains his confidence in record time.

Holmes: Yes. Of course. I and he will stand face-to-face. It shall be similar to the closing scenes of any good western. The hero and the villain stand toe-to-toe with it all riding on the line...only he has nothing to gain and I have nothing more than personal gratification to come out of this. Yes, you will not be required.

Constantine isn’t quite sure how to take that last sentence. He understands what Holmes means, but there was a hint of Holmes using Constantine, something he knows all too well about. He decides against picking on the point, but takes a mental note for later.

Holmes: Anyway, that’s not the sole reason I requested your presence.

Constantine: Oh really? What else did you have planned?

Holmes: Lethal Lottery.

Both men’s faces go from whatever expression they previously had to blank, cold stares. There is even a tension in the air. Holmes is the first to break the eerie silence that has evolved from this.

Holmes: I wanted to discuss how one of us will win the event. I wanted to discuss how with the two of us in we shall prevail. I wanted to talk to you about correcting the mistake of last year when you should’ve won the event.

Constantine’s face dips into a frown.

Holmes: You see, I may be compelled and drawn to this incident with Crashin, but I can see that you fear I will turn on you at any second. You fear that I am perhaps in a questionable mental state. You fear that I will turn on you just as I did with Crashin and Kurtesy. You fear that I am using you as a pawn in a much larger game, but nothing could be further from the truth.

As Holmes continues, he begins to approach Constantine.

Holmes: One of us will walk out of Los Angeles with the opportunity of a lifetime to become the World Heavyweight Champion. One of us is heading to the Main Event of Kingdom Come. No one will stop us.

Holmes puts his hand on Constantine’s shoulder to comfort him. He resumes his dialogue.

Holmes: With our combined strength, we shall annihilate anyone who stands in our way, whether it is the Apostles of Chaos or Baller or even foolhardy foes of ours like Austin Reynolds or Gordito. They will suffer at our hands.

Constantine: I appreciate the pep talk Holmes, but should we not try to remove Gordito before he becomes too much of a problem?

Holmes begins to chuckle and pats Constantine on the shoulder.

Holmes: Oh my dear, dear Mr. Constantine. If you recall, I said that should Gordito come looking for a shot at my championship or even me as a human being, then he is welcome to take it. He is a naive young man and while the assault we gave him was designed to be a warning, I fully suspect he is going to take it as an invite for some sort of championship opportunity.

At this stage I welcome this. I welcome his appearance in the championship picture as it will be yet another famous scalp for me to add to my ever growing trophy case. I could use a good warm-up heading into the Lottery and with you beside me; we shall dominate and rise above all.

Constantine: Yes, but I still think you are underestimating just how good Gordito is. He’s tougher than you think and the same is going to be said of Black Dragon.

Holmes: Ah, but Black Dragon is a completely different sort of foe. Dragon is a calculating man. He is a cold man. He is unsympathetic and uncompromising at the same time. These are qualities I admire and I’m pleased to see a fellow champion is WZCW holds these, especially in an era where Steven Kurtesy of all people is the World Heavyweight Champion.

At Ascension, Dragon steps onto my home turf and he and I shall enjoy a quality match for sure. I do not underestimate his talents as a performer and I expect him to be one of my toughest challenges yet, but he has never experienced an evening in the ring with myself. He will soon learn why I am known as the Elite. I expect nothing more than the best from Black Dragon, and I hope he expects the same.

Constantine is somewhat baffled by how this conversation has turned as silence once more rules for a few seconds until it is broken again by Holmes.

Holmes: Now then, I think we require a toast.

Holmes manoeuvres himself towards a cabinet. He opens it to reveal two glasses of what appears to be Champaign already poured. He lifts them both out before handing one to Constantine, who examines the glass carefully.

Constantine: You had these set to drink already?

Holmes: Indeed I did. I was preparing to drink them sooner than this, but they are still consumable. So then, to victory!

Constantine: To victory!

The two men raise their glasses in potential victory before consuming the contents as we conclude our visit.

 

[Gelgarin]

Book of the Dragon​

~ Chapter 18 – Shoot the Messenger ~​

Twenty square inches of black stretch nylon plus faux leather appliqué and a Velcro chin strap. One size fits most. Retailing in at a bargain price of only forty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, now you too can walk the streets looking like Black Dragon. Perfect for live events, Halloween parties or avoiding security cameras whilst engaging in a criminal offence. Orders usually ship within three to five working days. Buy now to avoid the rush.

It’s hardly a new development; the Dragon masks have been on sale for months, but this evening I have elected to be extremely angry about it. Muse would tell me that it’s displacement activity; that I’m raging against something trivial in order to distract myself from what is really upsetting me… but Muse isn’t here. She wasn’t here last night or the night before, nor will she be here tomorrow. Months ago, when my idea of a problem was having to drop Jack Skinner on his head, I wrote that when the Gods wish to punish us they give us what we ask for. I asked Muse to stay away and she granted my wish. She is not here, so I shall vent my fury at faux leather appliqué.

What is particularly galling is that their masks are so much better than mine. I don’t know what faux leather appliqué is, but I don’t think my mask has it. I stitched Black Dragon out of a few jackets when I was languishing in confinement. The face is mostly made from a cheap plastic anorak and chokes my skin constantly. I wanted a mouthpiece, but adding one made the mask akin to wearing a plastic bag over your head. I spent an age creating the mask, and now it is torn, blood stained and falling to pieces. I had been in the federation less than a month before they started selling replicas that put my feeble efforts to shame for forty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.

I don’t know where the money goes – it certainly doesn’t come near me. One of the downsides of not having a contract is that details such as merchandising rights tend to get forgotten. I wouldn’t care, except I suspect that the profit is working its way into the pockets of either Ty Burna or Vance Bateman, the two men I came here specifically to hurt. Instead I find myself dancing to their tune, playing their games, fighting the men they select whilst they profit from my battles. Corrupt titans sit above the federation whilst I run in place, achieving nothing, gaining no ground. I had hoped that dropping Burna’s lackey onto his head would bring me a step closer to my goal… instead I am brushed aside to another show like an irrelevant detail.

And on the subject of irrelevant details: Steven Holmes. If imaginary Muse is right and I’m displacing anger about something then it’s definitely not my opponent for this week. We’ll fight, odds on I’ll drop him on his head, and then Steven Holmes can carry on existing in his official capacity as just some guy.

I am dimly aware that the man is neck deep in some petty villainy, but I have not been paying attention enough to care. Something is happening involving my old acquaintances Blade and Hammond, but I make a regular habit of not watching the show, so events not concerning me are often something of a blur. I depend on Muse to fill in the blanks for me, but Muse has decided to not be here. Not that I can blame her; I asked her not to be.

“You’re getting too close.” I told her.

“You’re distracting me.” I said.

I told her that “I don’t feel I can do what needs to be done for fear of hurting you.”

It was becoming a problem. You can’t win against all odds unless you are willing to gamble everything, and in this case what I was gambling was my own safety. It’s not something I have ever treasured, but she values it, and I can’t keep explaining to her why I have to throw it away. I love her. I need her. But these are personal feelings, and I cannot allow personal feelings to cloud my judgement. I’m not here to build myself a new life; I tried that once before and it didn’t work. I’m here to bring a message of judgement to the world, and I cannot allow personal baggage to drown that message out.

I said all of this and more. Muse just sat there attentively; listening to every word, making things easy for me. She didn’t argue, she didn’t protest, she didn’t so much as role her eyes outside of my imagination. She simply heard me out and then quietly left; stopping only to tell me she’d be there if I needed her. She’s too perfect a creature to be a part of my life, but I do wish she was here to decipher my emotions for me.

Then again, tonight we are dealing with anger, just about the only emotional response that I am good at. I have made anger into an art form. Anger is useful, but first you must learn to use it. You need to tame it. Suppress it, bind it, and send it back into the shadows until you need it. It will come when you call. It will be there waiting when you are in pain, when you need power for fight or flight. Anger is the emotion that has enabled me to survive, but it has claimed its fee. Anger has chased away all other feelings, driven away every possibility of normality, and now I fear it has chased Muse from my life. All I am left with is a glistening pool of rage inside; churning, writhing, overflowing once a week in little bubbles that are taken and sold for forty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.

Well as the producers said; if you’ve got it, flaunt it. If all I have is anger then anger is what I will show to the world. Steven Holmes, you will be the messenger of my rage. It is considered impolite to harm the messenger, but in this case your limping, crippled body is all part of the message. We shall fight, and then you will show the world what I am thinking. You will show Bateman and Burna and all the other pipers who would have me dance to their tune exactly what I think of their music. You will serve as a display to the scum, to the wheelers and dealers in people’s fates, to the villains, petty and maniacal alike; you will serve as a display to all of them of what my rage is capable of.

Steven Holmes: let me introduce you to my anger. I’m sure you will get on exactly like a house on fire.