Roman Cripate: Road to Redemption 3

[Roman Cripate]

The darkness shrouds both Ethen Bonelo and Roman Cripate as the surf crashes in against the shoreline but a few feet away from the porch they are sat upon. The breaking of the waves mutes their every breath as the faint silhouette of their bodies is the only thing proving their presence. The moon sits in the sky half full amongst the multitude of stars, supposedly one for every descendant of Abraham, and the serenity of the occasion mirrors the bliss of the past two weeks. Fresh off their first victory inside of an Asylum ring, the mountain had been removed from their collective shoulders. Yet now before them lay a tougher task, scaling it and reaching the apex, joining the stars in EUW and once again reclaiming their place amongst the top.

Bonelo: “It's nice sitting out here without a care in the world.”

The voice of Ethen Bonelo is met with an auspicious laugh from Roman Cripate. The silhouette changes as Ethen turns slightly and looks at Roman, bidding him to continue, the darkness continuing their masquerade.

Cripate: “A year ago we were sat here doing the exact same thing and you said just that. 'It's nice sitting out here without a care in the world.' Your knee was in shambles, we had nowhere to go and wrestle and you'd just signed on to do something so stupid even I never considered it, yet no cares.”

Bonelo: “We won last week, we won back then too, that's my number one concern at the moment and right now it isn't one. Come Sunday it will be but we want to enjoy this: that doesn't happen if we spend every moment around the ring.”

Cripate: “I know but we're still in tough shape this week. Taylor may be older than you are but we both know that doesn't mean he's not a threat. Same goes for Church; he's got a strap for a reason and it sure as hell isn't 'cause he managed to get those New Jersey judges scoring his bout.”

Bonelo: “I know but I've been thinking about it over the past couple of weeks and a month ago we were tense heading into The Asylum. We were so focused on everything that it threw us off our game. Last week when we just were ourselves, let our natural talent take over we were successful. It's been the same story all along, we went up north and had fun with it. Even when we were getting our skulls battered, I was tabloid fodder and you were running around needing to be locked up in a strait-jacket we still had fun.”

Cripate: “And we were champions.”

Bonelo: “Exactly. We came back south and it started off fun and things were looking up but then we started to take things serious and nothing worked out for us. Sponsorships, endorsements, it wasn't the pressure of living up to expectations; it was the fact that it made something we loved into a job. It's why we're doing this; to get back to what it was like in Japan, in Illinois, in the bingo halls and high school gyms and that's when we were relaxed and having fun, not sweating what we couldn't control.”

Roman gets up from his seat and let's forth a sigh before walking to the edge of the porch, hanging out over the water serving as an elevated wharf of sorts. Ethen starts to continue but cuts himself off as the surf spectacularly crashes into the shoreline and sends forth a spray of mist up onto the porch drenching Roman as he begins to splutter, causing Bonelo to laugh heartily.

Bonelo: “See what I mean?”

Roman is silent for a moment before laughing himself and turning back out towards the water, not letting Poseidon's little rib on behalf of his Uncle take away from the majesty of what was set before him.

Roman Cripate: Orgins
2.1

“I can't believe I let you talk me into this. I was fine with the two of us but a third wheel?” he said as I simply smiled back at him. “It worked pretty damn well for you, Mr. Fiance.” Defeated, he hung his head as he took another drink of water from the glass beside him and then replaced it on the table.

He looked over his shoulder towards the screen door to the patio, expecting it to open at any time and finally reveal who was going to join us on our quest for redemption. Despite his please and protestations I had steadfastly refused to reveal the identity of who I had lined up. I simply told him it was a surprise and that was going to be the end of it.

“Give me a clue?” he said as he once again checked the door. “Quit looking over your shoulder” I responded flatly. He took a moment to digest it as he looked out over the water. Another moment of thought and immediately his face lit up, understanding the clue as he turned and looked at me as I reached into the breast pocket of my open beach shirt and pulled out a Cuban cigar. Immediately he shook his head in disbelief.

“You didn't? For someone who's main worry was about our secret being revealed you're trusting the only Cuban crazier than Fidel himself to ...” I smiled at him as he was cut off by the pulsating beating of rotor blades coming in from behind the house as he immediately bowed his head. “Where the fuck is he going to bring that thing down?”

For the first time in over a year, he's inability to refrain from cursing said volumes about his thoughts of my choice. We both raised our arms to shield our eyes as slowly the Helicopter landed on the beach in front of us and from out of the pilot seat hopped the third member of our team, as the screen door behind us opened as she stepped out from inside.

“What's goin' on out here? It sounded like a helicopter comin' in for a landin' ...” She too is stopped as she sees the one tonne beast blocking the view of the beach as well as the response in a moderate cuban accent.

“Ma'am, you didn't just call this a Helicopter. No, it's more than a helicopter. You see, a normal helicopter is fine for traffic reporters and saving Private Ryan but not for me; for everything I do I need something a little bit more technically advanced, and has my face on the front. Like you're the only beast for my new teammate, the only ...” Immediately he face went beet Red as she stormed towards him angrily.

“What! Did you just call me?” she said with malice in her voice. “Miss, don't be insulted, not everyone can be as beautiful as Ms. Sofia, nor should you worry about your looks. It's not you're fault that there's enough troll in you to ...” I knew better than to laugh as she stormed down the steps as I turned and looked at my partner who couldn't help but shake his head realizing the genius of my plan.

“No one in their right mind would team with him, least of all us.” he said as I smiled to myself before responding. “Exactly.” We both turned and surveyed the scene as she chased him around, trying to get a hold of the crazy bastard but never managing to do so as he continued to shout almost incoherently.

“When I said I wanted things to be interesting again you know I didn't mean this, right?” he asked as I smiled, the both of us on the same wavelength as she finally abandoned her chase. “This is why the pink wearing fairy got rid of you miss, it's because you give up, not out” the crazy Cuban shouted as the facial expressions immediately changed places.

Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.
--Paul Verlaine

The famous poem of Paul Verlaine was used to alert the French troops of the impending arrival of the Allied Forces at Normandy and to begin the Resistance against the Axis leaders. After their victory against the Dogs of War, the closing lines of the first stanza carry a similar message to the rest of EUW: beware the coming of Redemption. With the first notch on their belt their aspirations don’t seem as farfetched though still well out of reach.

That could all change after their match with Immanuel Taylor and Tyreke “Church” Bell, two men who are no stranger to success in The Asylum as former and current Hardkore Champions. A victory over them would legitimize Redemption as a team and competitors inside of the Asylum ring. It wouldn’t be easy however; despite the fact that their opponents showed no inclination towards working cohesively, their individual talents appeared to be far greater than those of Roman Cripate and Ethen Bonelo. It was simply once again a return to Normandy, the collective might of the Allied Forces, or the singular power of the Third Reich.

History has told how that battle ended, Kristalnacht and The Pogroms vilified, “the concept of evil readily evoked by any symbol associated with Nazism”, making this one battle in EUW seem inconsequential, yet as Normandy proved one battle can signal the start of something that was long thought of as impossible …

Redemption’s return to the top.

[/B][/I]

Seated backstage, Roman Cripate and Ethen Bonelo sit quietly amongst the tarped off seats in the upper most deck of Sunlife Stadium, watching the dark matches as they take place. Last week they were amongst them, fighting for their spot on the roster and hoping to make an impression on someone. Ostensibly it had worked as they now found themselves back on live television and faced with a steep challenge; Tyreke Bell and Immanuel Taylor. Roman looks at Ethen as inside of the ring, Natalie Burrows squares off against Travis Gunner, the southern belle standing her own inside of the ring.

Bonelo: “What do you think of Burrows?”

Cripate: “Kind of flat chested, don’t ya think?”

Ethen shakes his head as Roman smiles, before turning back and looking at her, watching as she got knocked down by a big boot from Gunners.

Cripate: “I don’t think she’s bad but I’ve seen this song and dance before. She’ll come in, show a little bit of potential but she’ll run into someone who’s just that little bit better and she’ll run home, upset about the loss and eventually coming back claiming some faux injury or malady as the reason for her lackluster performances.”

Bonelo: “Little bit of foreshadowing?”

Cripate: “What do you think?”

Ethen smiles before leaning back in his seat as Roman keeps his focus on the ring.

Bonelo: “This is a big night for us. We had a chance last week and we took it and ran, but we can’t drop the ball this week. Church and Bell aren’t like anyone we’ve ever stepped into the ring against. We’ve always been up against people are who united against us for one reason or another, whether it was personal or strictly business. Tonight they’re not just fighting us, but each other and that makes them potentially all the more deadly. They’re not going to let a chance to show the other up pass and that’s likely to come at our expense.”

Cripate: “That premise works in our favour potentially as well though. They’re not going to be able to get on a roll if they’re constantly trying to go back and forth and they’re not going to give the other a shot.”

Bonelo: “All we need to do is make sure that we don’t let them come to an uneasy agreement because then neither happens and we’re facing two of the best in the company. We managed to sneak out a win against the Dogs of War but you can’t dismiss the fact that we appeared over matched against Violent Conduct: and they’re not on the level of either Bell or Taylor.”

Roman casually dismisses that notion as he turns his focus away from the ring and looks at Ethen Bonelo.

Cripate: “If that’s the case then we go out to the ring, have a little bit of fun and let our natural talent take over. We’ve proven before that the two of us combined are stronger than any two individuals on a loose agreement. Sure we lost to Violent Conduct but they’re a team and a pretty damn good one at that. It’s like you told me last night though, we were tense coming into the match; we had to worry about appeasing Rivera and what his new regime might bring, we were underneath the bright lights for the first time ever, it was entirely new to us and Violent Conduct had already under gone that.

Remember what you told me right before we fought for the straps up north?”

Ethen shakes his head, unable to remember minute details from over eighteen months ago like Roman.

Cripate: “You told me that in the month since we’d started wrestling together you’d noticed a change in me that reminded you of something you’d long since forgotten. Change is something spontaneous but never the result of a single action. It festers inside of us, growing stronger and stronger until finally it emerges, ready to thrive and prosper. You can look at Germany after World War One. The treaty of Versailles emasculated them, unemployment started to rise and inflation became so rampant that the money was worth less than the paper it was printed on. Those conditions allowed the Greater Reich to emerge and their influence forced the Allies to come together, it brought the Soviets out of reclusion and into the forefront, and then as a result of their victory, the Cold War began to grow.

It’s the same thing with us here in EUW, we lost to Violent Conduct but we got our feet wet: the seed was planted. We beat Dogs of War and we’ve begun to grow stronger. Now we’re facing Bell and Taylor and that’s going to allow us to emerge, to really get people talking about Redemption. Once that happens everything is set to grow, one thing building upon another as we follow the path laid before us.”

Bonelo: “So what then do we do about Taylor and Church. Surely you’re not suggesting we rely on them imploding and allowing us to pick up the pieces?”

Cripate: “First things first we need to neutralize the grumpy old man powers of Immanuel Taylor and after dealing with you for the past two years I think I’ve got considerable experience doing that. After that he’s essentially reduced to a classic wrestler in the Lou Thesz mould. If I start whipping around the ring he’s not going to be able to keep up. As for Church, he’s a fighter. If you put him down on his back he’s out of his element, if you keep your distance he’s not going to be able to catch you. It’s fly around the ring, getting your shots in, avoid getting your bell’s rocked and then plant him on his ass.”

Bonelo: “So you don’t even need me?”

Cripate: “Of course I do, I need some moral support.”

Ethen smiles as inside of the ring, Brandon Young comes into the ring having made the hot tag from Natalie Burrows. Roman leans back into his chair as he emits a heavy sigh followed by a slight yawn.

Cripate: Above all though we need this victory. We can’t rest on our laurels and what to most will be a meaningless victory against the Dogs of War. We’re still new here, we’ve not got the following or the reputation that allows us to stumble. Every time we step into the ring it is D-Day, ‘cause I don’t know about you but I’m not ready to go home just yet. I’m just getting started.”

Bonelo: “No, we know what our goals are and what it’s going to take to get there. I’m as committed to this endeavour as you are.”

Cripate: “I want to get back to the top of the mountain and I want to enjoy it once I get there. No bullshit, just wrestling.”

Bonelo: “Well then we better get to it.”

With that said, Roman and Ethen get to their feet and head back towards the concourse, ducking out of sight as the bell rings and the final dark match of the evening concludes.

Immanuel Taylor, Tyreke Bell, tonight you guys are sat in your cushy dressing rooms preparing yourself for a match against who you see as sacrificial lambs. It’s evident that neither of you are going to take us serious, that you’re extremely confident that you’re going to walk out the victor this week. Your entire preparation this week hasn’t been how you’re going to neutralize our strength and exploit our weaknesses, but instead how you’re going to use us as pawns in your little chess match. You wholly expect us to allow you to continue your game of ‘anything you can do, I can do better’ at our expense. I can tell you for certain however that that’s not going to happen.

Neither of you particularly care about this match: in the grand scheme of things it means nothing in the little war you two have begun to wage upon one another. You both want to win only to pad your resume, you both want to get the pin fall so you can gloat about it. Tyreke, you’re more concerned with making sure that you don’t let the title belt out of your sight before someone else runs away with it. You walk down in your pretty little robe, dance around like a school girl before doing your best Rocky Balboa impression. I’ve got news for you kid though, you’re not up against Clubber Lang or Ivan Drago, you’re stepping into the ring with Mason Dixon and despite giving it everything you’ve got, you’re still not going to come out with the victory.

Same goes for you Immanuel, no one’s going to save you from your fate tonight. You parade around like some recluse, studying the ring as if you’re some mentally retarded chimpanzee. Some people say it’s Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, some say it’s because the armed forces didn’t want you around anymore. Me, I just think you’re flat out stupid. You pretend to be smart, a pseudo-intellectual trying to break everything down to the numbers, to the basics, a stout proponent of Occam’s razor. It feels weird lecturing someone twice my age but this isn’t an economical enterprise Taylor, the simplest solution isn’t always the correct one inside of the wrestling ring.

You’re going to want to put aside everything between you and Bell when you step between the ropes but you fail to acknowledge the human element. You’re too thick in the skull to realize that he’s not going to simply drop his pants wily nily after you reamed him by taking his title. You fail to acknowledge the genesis of a tag team match, that it’s not just two people working together towards the common goal of victory, its two people becoming one, fighting for the other as if they were themselves. It’s a concept entirely foreign to a friendless recluse like you. It’s something that Ethen and I have been building for the past two years, it’s something we mastered that allowed us to rise to the top before and it’s what’s going to propel us there again.

We’re not going to roll over, we’re going to take this opportunity to show Mark Rivera that we’re deserving of a tag team title shot at Scars and Stripes. We’re going to show Violent Conduct that we’re not the same team they defeated a month ago. We’re going to show everyone who tunes into Sunday Night Vengeance just what Redemption is all about.

It’s about stepping into the ring and doing things the way they ought to be done; not stealing someone’s strap, not pretending to be Rocky Balboa and not being a pretentious prick. It’s about one thing plain and simple, victory.

Because to the victor go the spoils.

As the laughter fades out, Roman turns and looks at Ethen as his silhouette flops back into that of the chair, not willing to take another mouthful of ocean water.

Bonelo: “The only thing we can control is ourselves.”

Cripate: “Yeah and that’s not a bad thing. We’re pretty damn good in spite of this bullshit.”

Ethen lets loose a smile as he gets up from his chair.

Bonelo: “We’ll find out how good that is come Sunday I think. I’m going to head in for the night though, catch a little shut eye.”

Cripate: “I’m going to stay out here for a bit. G’night.

Bonelo: “Night.”

Ethen pulls open the screen door and ducks inside of the house before pulling it shut as Roman Cripate tilts his head up slightly to look at the stars as the scene fades away into his silhouette.