Post by Immanuel Taylor on Jul 22, 2011 20:12:13 GMT -5
Immanuel Taylor left the Rosemont Gardens in New York after Vengeance went off broadcast with two things. The first was a clean victory in his match, thus putting an end to his cancerous losing streak. The second thing was a guaranteed rematch for the Hardkore Title with current holder Tyreke Bell at Scars and Stripes. He also managed to return the stolen title belt without being charged for assault and robbery.
Then the side effect reared its ugly head in. Immanuel’s reactionary plan of theft and blackmail ran into Mark Rivera who, although turned a blind eye to it, added a twisted edge to it. Instead of a boring, yet still horrific for Immanuel, Hardcore Rules match, Rivera officiated the match as a Barbed Wire contest. Immanuel knew what Barbed Wire was, of course. It’s those long wires with the sharp edges protruding out form the sides. Yes. What Immanuel did not “get” was how one could contest a wrestling contest with its presence. Would you use it as a weapon? Or would the ring be covered with barbed wire? And if yes, then would it only be the turnbuckles and ropes? Or do they find a way to create traps in the mat itself?
Immanuel had still not grasped how once could contest a Steel Cage match, let alone his upcoming Barbed Wire match.
Then again, does Immanuel have anyone to blame but himself for what he has gotten himself into? Yes, Rivera takes great delight in the misery of his subjects but it was Immanuel who stole that title belt and used it as leverage to get himself a rematch for the title. It was Immanuel who exacerbated the feud between Tyreke and himself into a breaking point explosion of violence, thus giving Mark Rivera the perfect justification to satisfy his sadistic leanings.
Still, a rematch is a rematch and Immanuel is officially going to be competing for the Hardkore Title at Scars and Stripes against Tyreke Bell. It would be his official fourth Hardkore match and Immanuel realizes that he will have to completely adapt himself to the nature of a Hardkore in order to capture the title. Immanuel did not choose to be in the Hardkore division. He was put here by Rivera and kept here. No. Immanuel is just doing what is expected of him.
Yet, Immanuel still felt a tinge of joy as he closed the cab door and made his way into the Hotel Tropicana at 5 in the morning after his plane landed in San Francisco from New York and he made his way past the reception desk, up the stairs and into his private, solitary room. Immanuel put down his shoulder bag, slipped off his clothes and, at 5:13 in the morning, turned on the shower dish and enjoyed the warmth of hot water dashing down on his latest selection of bruises and cuts. Immanuel's dance with Tenfold left him with some fresh ones, including a rather painful head throb after Tenfold's Pele Kick.
Immanuel wanted to think about the Barbed Wire match but he couldn't. He wanted to think about the joy of having a rematch, but he could not either. Now that Immanuel is alone and in a state of pleasure, he found himself with enough calmness to reflect on something outside the realm of his Asylum-EUW career. Immanuel found himself thinking about Vitali Khodorkovsky.
Immanuel didn't know his name, of course. But he saw him when Vitali followed him to the obscure little café behind the Mission Dolores. Immanuel immediately made note of Vitali's attentive glance when he saw Immanuel for the first time. Vitali tried to hide his mild surprise but Immanuel caught it. He was good though, a professional, and Immanuel kept that in mind as he made his way to the café with Vitali behind him. Immanuel wasn't sure that Vitali was following him until Immanuel left the café and stopped at a local grocery store. As he was going inside, he glanced at the mirror on the corner of the entrance door and spotted Vitali keeping a distance. It was then, as Immanuel made his way inside and grabbed a grocery cart to keep his disguise up, that he realized he was being followed.
Immanuel suddenly left the shower, butt-naked of course, and approached his writing desk with water dripping from his body. He opened the drawer, careful not to slam it into his penis, and took out the wooden panel and then extracted his 6P9 Soviet-manufactured pistol, with the double edge silencer on. Immanuel checked the bullet clips and made sure it was in order before doing the same for his two other guns, the Ruger LC9 and the Smith and Wesson .45 ACP. Immanuel packed everything back and crawled back into the shower.
More caution and discipline is needed. Immanuel always checks his firearms when he returns from his match, it's the first thing he does. He slightly forgot this time, this time being a time where Immanuel is sure of actually being followed. Immanuel did not inquire on why he was being followed and why someone would think of doing so. Immanuel did not know wHy but he doesn't need to. A chase is a chase.
Immanuel turned off the shower. It's too early and Immanuel is too tired for these kinds of thoughts. Someone was following Immanuel. Oh, he was sure of that. But Immanuel is here alone and in delicious privacy and he kept this in mind as he slipped into bed and quickly dozed off into temporary yet orgasmic sleep.
Immanuel Taylor’s abs are stiff and his Ruger LC9 handgun slightly slipped when he got up or sat down. Immanuel felt the former of that combination as the BART Light Rail train makes its final stop at the Embarcadero station and Immanuel gets up in conjuction with the remainder of the passengers and steps out onto the platform. It’s Tuesday, the week of the show, and Immanuel has decided to slow down his vigorous daily training schedule in order not to burn out. His muscles are already acridly aching, this tends to happen spontaneously, and thus Immanuel decided to pull back for today only. Instead of an intense early morning workout schedule, Immanuel slept an extra two hours before heading over to the gymanisum at the EUW Headquarters and simply working on his cardio. Just for today.
And now, showered up and dressed casually, Immanuel stepped out of the Embarcadero station and passed by the Embarcadero station, making his way into the financial district. The summer heat didn’t have an effect on the large mass of people frocking throughout the Financial District, most of them in fancy suits. Immanuel, of course, was not wearing a suit but he managed to crawl in and blend in. Just a man with a shoulder bag and a robust wrestling career.
Immanuel’s wrestling career at the Asylum-EUW corporation has so far led him down to many paths involving many interesting characters. There was Brett Cross, the monstrous Viking who Immanuel had to painfully tango with. There was Shawn Ashen, a man of obscene riches and Bane, a former police officer turned professional wrestler. And now, Immanuel found himself facing a duo of eccentric personalities, symbolized by the unique color of each, dreary black for Mr. Bonelo and techno green for Mr. Cripate.
Redemption is composed of two components that did not just differ in color. Ethen Bonelo and Roman Cripate, both with different yet very fitting wrestling styles. Bonelo had the strength that gave a crushing layer to his already crushingly depressive Black-no sugar-no cream appearance while Roman had the speed that strengthened his Circuit City-like Green appearance. Immanuel was impressed by the creativity and took a moment to contemplate whether said creativity also extended to their wrestling styles. Immanuel was able to pinpoint some gaps in the styles of each upon repeated studies of said folders.
Ethen had the focus on power grappling yet his height, at 6’2, is significantly shorter than Immanuel’s 6’7. To make up for that, Ethen would have to possess a sizeable lead in the weight department but he does not. His 250 narrowly triumphs over Immanuel’s 241. This meant two things, positive and negative. The positive, for Immanuel that is, was that Ethen could not use his strength to dominate since it could not be concentrated on someone with Immanuel’s specifications. The negative, by contrast, was that this still made Ethen dangerous. Immanuel’s 6’7 balanced his 241, making him more slender and lighter than he appears. Ethen’s relatively short height went along nicely with his meaty weight so Immanuel could not hope to use his height advantage for submission domination either.
With Roman, Ethen’s balance sheet rounding partner, Immanuel found a less complex paradigm. Immanuel has wrestled someone with similar stats and style to Mr. Cripate. In fact, he had wrestled him on the last episode of Sunday Night Vengeance. Danny Tenfold. Immanuel was able to break off his losing streak with that match and gain a valuable insight on wrestling competitors with increased agility. Going one on one with Roman, 200 pounds and 6 foot, would be a much less complex dance than going with the tank-ish Bonelo. Yet Immanuel is going against both and when one factors how compataible their different styles are together, the situation becomes darker. Roman's speediness with Ethen's power grapples. Both bouncing off each other. It's beautiful. And not only is Immanuel going up against that but is doing so with a partner whom he will be facing at Scars and Stripes in an obscenely dangerous match.
Immanuel paused. No. It’s too early to focus on the Barbed Wire match. Immanuel has done some very preliminary research and has already established that it is horrific. But Redemption, and the forced partnership with Tyreke Bell, are a full plate and a half in of themselves. Yes, from the entire EUW-Asylum roster, including many past opponents of Immanuel, Mark Rivera made the extra effort to pick the only one whom Immanuel managed to rob and subsequently blackmail, the only one who lunged forward and brawled with Immanuel after the exchange took place.
Immanuel stopped by a newspaper stand and bought today’s edition of the San Francisco Chronicle. He stopped one more time in front of the Basil Leaf Café but decided not to enter, feeling it was too….modern for his tastes. He blended back into the larger mass, aware that it shielded him from any potential onlookers.
This was Immanuel Taylor’s first tag team contest. This fact resonated strongly with him as he stood here side by side with a number of people he doesn’t know. So far, Immanuel has been in a barbaric Hardcore Rules fatal four way, a string of triple threat matches which he always lost, a barrage of singles match which he mostly won, a six man over the top battle royal and soon the Barbed Wire match at Scars and Stripes. Each new match twist gave Immanuel a new challenge, planting more obstacles into the fertile EUW-Asylum ground for Immanuel to overcome, yet the tag team twist filled Immanuel with more discomfort than all the predecessors.
The match itself is not complicated enough that it requires a philosophical reflection. Oh no. It’s very straightforward and, indeed, very innovative and economic. Instead of two separate single matches, team two against each other and allow the games to begin. Immanuel got his head around the concept of it but not the feasibility of it. For Immanuel, trusting other people was and continues to be akin to shooting yourself in the foot. The reason for that is simple. People, no matter how virtuous and holy, will always fail you.
Immanuel’s train of thought, which still runs even when he is taking a day off to stop himself from burning himself out, came to another figurative halting screech when Immanuel arrived at his destination. The Jackson Place Café, nestle in an alleyway connected but aloof from the day-to-day liveliness of the Financial District of San Francisco. Immanuel entered, spotted an empty single table and seat, placed his shoulder bag on it and proceeded to order a cup of coffee and lasagna.
For once, Immanuel has officially ordered something grander than a cup of coffee. Immanuel placed the Redemption tag team biography folder before proceeding to cut 10% of the lasagna off the whole unit and separating it. Since today is a day off, Immanuel tried to take the afternoon off and simply enjoy the sexiness of San Francisco.
He tried. He looked around him. Two old ladies with too much makeup on are discussing the art of dishwashing. A young girl on her cellphone, one of them Blueberries or Blackberries. A middle aged man enjoying a novel alongside cake and…umm..tea? The fluid looks kinda orangey. The man’s eyes darted off the pages of the novel and met Immanuel’s eyes, who turned them away and found himself focusing on his match folder. With that, Immanuel found himself unable to take a short break from confronting the main obstacle facing himself on Sunday the 24th, Teaming up with Tyreke Bell.
Trusting Tyreke was out of the question. Tyreke himself would be a fool if he extended any trust to Immanuel and expected any in return. Yet the question remains whether Tyreke can swallow his rightful hatred of Immanuel in order to function well as a team. Immanuel has no problem doing this and, in fact, Immanuel has nothing against Tyreke Bell. Even after he robbed Tyreke of his title, the one Tyreke beat Immanuel for, and blackmailed him with it for a rematch. Immanuel has nothing against Tyreke personally, all that has happened so far is pure business. Rivera stuck Immanuel in the Hardcore Division. What Immanuel did, the theft and blackmail, is a direct consequence of that.
Facing a cohesive and talented team such as Redemption as one half of a volatile team with a partner who really, really hates you is difficult.
But it’s doable.
Immanuel saw no obstacles in working alongside Church. Neither Church nor Immanuel could possibly work with each other but they could work side by side, alongside, as two men with one goal. Even with Church’s animosity towards Immanuel, Immanuel felt fairly sure that Church would do his part simply because Tyreke wants to win. Immanuel is sure of this. If Bell went through hell to get that Hardkore belt, including calling Immanuel out after he stole it, then he’d be able to do his part in the match or else he’d have to share a loss with Immanuel to Cripate and Bonelo, two newer additions to the EUW-Asylum complex. Immanuel has no delusions about Mr. Cripate and Mr. Bonelo. Together, they make a vicious team. Immanuel understands this. He just hopes that Tyreke Bell does.
Immanuel ate peacefully and diligently, not reflecting on anything for the moment being. He ate and observed his surroundings in the Jackson Place Café. He once again felt the advantage of this particular café; it’s modestly isolated position in a very lively district. One could tune out yet still feel a "part" of San Francisco. And the coffee is great too.
With these set of revelations also came an additional one concerning the fact that Immanuel's life, meaning his current employment and residence status, has seen some semblance of a routine to it. He's already memorized the names of the various streets, from Chestnut in the Financial District to Valencia in the Mission District. Immanuel's career also has seen a faint level of modesty attached to it. Yes, wrestling has introduced Immanuel to a plethora of characters and matches, including the upcoming Barbed Wire one, and brought along with it concentrated dozes of pain, especially in the Hardcore department, but it is a stable job. Painful and at times horrific, yes, but a godsend in this economy. And now, Immanuel has pinpointed a favorite café.
Immanuel put down his cup of coffee and finished the allocated 10% of his lasagna. The idea of domesticity and routine stung Immanuel in the chest area, made him feel slightly…trapped. Of course, when the idea of feeling trapped came to Immanuel's head, he immediately thought about the man who followed him that night at the Mission Dolores, Vitali Khodorkovsky. Immanuel, of course, did not know his name was Vitali Khodorkovsky but he's still got the image of that man embedded deep in his head. Tall, slightly muscular, not too much but enough, draped in black from neck to toe, and European-looking.
European. That alone took Immanuel to a place he did not want to go. Immanuel finished his cup of coffee, closed the Redemption and had the waiter wrap up the remaining 90% of the Lasagna to go before making his way back to the financial district. Upon making his way out of the slight alleyway, Immanuel walked straight into the mosaic of the large crowd and "went" with the flow. He passed by three blocks before stopping by a homeless women with two scantly clothed kids at another alleyway. Immanuel went out of the crowd and rushed deep into the alleyway, stopping at a considerable distance behind a trash can and then placing his shoulder bag on the top of a garbage bin.
Immanuel then proceeded to take out from something from his pants.
It's his Ruger LC9 handgun. Immanuel had it behind the trash can while to pretending to rummaging through his shoulder bag with both his eyes on the entrance of the alleway
Five minutes passed. Nothing unusual happened. The homeless woman kept her eyes focused on Immanuel, who looked silly standing there in his James Bond pose behind a trash can with the Ruger LC9 firmly in his right hand. Putting the aside how silly it looks, Immanuel knows exactly what he is doing. He is trained for situations such as these and has been in a handful of them previously. Immanuel waited for another minute. Nothing.
His eyes met the eyes of the homeless woman before he reconciled himself with the fact that no one is following him at this moment, including that European man, Vitali, whom Immanuel would have spotted instantly if he was there and so much as took a peak into the alleyway. Immanuel put the gun back into the pack of his pants, took out the leftover lasagna and closed his bag before draping it over his shoulder and placing the leftover lasagna next to the homeless woman and her kids. Immanuel, on his knees after placing the food, glanced to his left and right as the woman mumbled something in a foreign language.
Immanuel made his way out of the alleyway and quickly immersed himself into the San Francisco crowd, doing so until he became completely submerged into the heat of the Financial District of San Francisco, completely unidentifiable.
Then the side effect reared its ugly head in. Immanuel’s reactionary plan of theft and blackmail ran into Mark Rivera who, although turned a blind eye to it, added a twisted edge to it. Instead of a boring, yet still horrific for Immanuel, Hardcore Rules match, Rivera officiated the match as a Barbed Wire contest. Immanuel knew what Barbed Wire was, of course. It’s those long wires with the sharp edges protruding out form the sides. Yes. What Immanuel did not “get” was how one could contest a wrestling contest with its presence. Would you use it as a weapon? Or would the ring be covered with barbed wire? And if yes, then would it only be the turnbuckles and ropes? Or do they find a way to create traps in the mat itself?
Immanuel had still not grasped how once could contest a Steel Cage match, let alone his upcoming Barbed Wire match.
Then again, does Immanuel have anyone to blame but himself for what he has gotten himself into? Yes, Rivera takes great delight in the misery of his subjects but it was Immanuel who stole that title belt and used it as leverage to get himself a rematch for the title. It was Immanuel who exacerbated the feud between Tyreke and himself into a breaking point explosion of violence, thus giving Mark Rivera the perfect justification to satisfy his sadistic leanings.
Still, a rematch is a rematch and Immanuel is officially going to be competing for the Hardkore Title at Scars and Stripes against Tyreke Bell. It would be his official fourth Hardkore match and Immanuel realizes that he will have to completely adapt himself to the nature of a Hardkore in order to capture the title. Immanuel did not choose to be in the Hardkore division. He was put here by Rivera and kept here. No. Immanuel is just doing what is expected of him.
Yet, Immanuel still felt a tinge of joy as he closed the cab door and made his way into the Hotel Tropicana at 5 in the morning after his plane landed in San Francisco from New York and he made his way past the reception desk, up the stairs and into his private, solitary room. Immanuel put down his shoulder bag, slipped off his clothes and, at 5:13 in the morning, turned on the shower dish and enjoyed the warmth of hot water dashing down on his latest selection of bruises and cuts. Immanuel's dance with Tenfold left him with some fresh ones, including a rather painful head throb after Tenfold's Pele Kick.
Immanuel wanted to think about the Barbed Wire match but he couldn't. He wanted to think about the joy of having a rematch, but he could not either. Now that Immanuel is alone and in a state of pleasure, he found himself with enough calmness to reflect on something outside the realm of his Asylum-EUW career. Immanuel found himself thinking about Vitali Khodorkovsky.
Immanuel didn't know his name, of course. But he saw him when Vitali followed him to the obscure little café behind the Mission Dolores. Immanuel immediately made note of Vitali's attentive glance when he saw Immanuel for the first time. Vitali tried to hide his mild surprise but Immanuel caught it. He was good though, a professional, and Immanuel kept that in mind as he made his way to the café with Vitali behind him. Immanuel wasn't sure that Vitali was following him until Immanuel left the café and stopped at a local grocery store. As he was going inside, he glanced at the mirror on the corner of the entrance door and spotted Vitali keeping a distance. It was then, as Immanuel made his way inside and grabbed a grocery cart to keep his disguise up, that he realized he was being followed.
Immanuel suddenly left the shower, butt-naked of course, and approached his writing desk with water dripping from his body. He opened the drawer, careful not to slam it into his penis, and took out the wooden panel and then extracted his 6P9 Soviet-manufactured pistol, with the double edge silencer on. Immanuel checked the bullet clips and made sure it was in order before doing the same for his two other guns, the Ruger LC9 and the Smith and Wesson .45 ACP. Immanuel packed everything back and crawled back into the shower.
More caution and discipline is needed. Immanuel always checks his firearms when he returns from his match, it's the first thing he does. He slightly forgot this time, this time being a time where Immanuel is sure of actually being followed. Immanuel did not inquire on why he was being followed and why someone would think of doing so. Immanuel did not know wHy but he doesn't need to. A chase is a chase.
Immanuel turned off the shower. It's too early and Immanuel is too tired for these kinds of thoughts. Someone was following Immanuel. Oh, he was sure of that. But Immanuel is here alone and in delicious privacy and he kept this in mind as he slipped into bed and quickly dozed off into temporary yet orgasmic sleep.
Immanuel Taylor’s abs are stiff and his Ruger LC9 handgun slightly slipped when he got up or sat down. Immanuel felt the former of that combination as the BART Light Rail train makes its final stop at the Embarcadero station and Immanuel gets up in conjuction with the remainder of the passengers and steps out onto the platform. It’s Tuesday, the week of the show, and Immanuel has decided to slow down his vigorous daily training schedule in order not to burn out. His muscles are already acridly aching, this tends to happen spontaneously, and thus Immanuel decided to pull back for today only. Instead of an intense early morning workout schedule, Immanuel slept an extra two hours before heading over to the gymanisum at the EUW Headquarters and simply working on his cardio. Just for today.
And now, showered up and dressed casually, Immanuel stepped out of the Embarcadero station and passed by the Embarcadero station, making his way into the financial district. The summer heat didn’t have an effect on the large mass of people frocking throughout the Financial District, most of them in fancy suits. Immanuel, of course, was not wearing a suit but he managed to crawl in and blend in. Just a man with a shoulder bag and a robust wrestling career.
Immanuel’s wrestling career at the Asylum-EUW corporation has so far led him down to many paths involving many interesting characters. There was Brett Cross, the monstrous Viking who Immanuel had to painfully tango with. There was Shawn Ashen, a man of obscene riches and Bane, a former police officer turned professional wrestler. And now, Immanuel found himself facing a duo of eccentric personalities, symbolized by the unique color of each, dreary black for Mr. Bonelo and techno green for Mr. Cripate.
Redemption is composed of two components that did not just differ in color. Ethen Bonelo and Roman Cripate, both with different yet very fitting wrestling styles. Bonelo had the strength that gave a crushing layer to his already crushingly depressive Black-no sugar-no cream appearance while Roman had the speed that strengthened his Circuit City-like Green appearance. Immanuel was impressed by the creativity and took a moment to contemplate whether said creativity also extended to their wrestling styles. Immanuel was able to pinpoint some gaps in the styles of each upon repeated studies of said folders.
Ethen had the focus on power grappling yet his height, at 6’2, is significantly shorter than Immanuel’s 6’7. To make up for that, Ethen would have to possess a sizeable lead in the weight department but he does not. His 250 narrowly triumphs over Immanuel’s 241. This meant two things, positive and negative. The positive, for Immanuel that is, was that Ethen could not use his strength to dominate since it could not be concentrated on someone with Immanuel’s specifications. The negative, by contrast, was that this still made Ethen dangerous. Immanuel’s 6’7 balanced his 241, making him more slender and lighter than he appears. Ethen’s relatively short height went along nicely with his meaty weight so Immanuel could not hope to use his height advantage for submission domination either.
With Roman, Ethen’s balance sheet rounding partner, Immanuel found a less complex paradigm. Immanuel has wrestled someone with similar stats and style to Mr. Cripate. In fact, he had wrestled him on the last episode of Sunday Night Vengeance. Danny Tenfold. Immanuel was able to break off his losing streak with that match and gain a valuable insight on wrestling competitors with increased agility. Going one on one with Roman, 200 pounds and 6 foot, would be a much less complex dance than going with the tank-ish Bonelo. Yet Immanuel is going against both and when one factors how compataible their different styles are together, the situation becomes darker. Roman's speediness with Ethen's power grapples. Both bouncing off each other. It's beautiful. And not only is Immanuel going up against that but is doing so with a partner whom he will be facing at Scars and Stripes in an obscenely dangerous match.
Immanuel paused. No. It’s too early to focus on the Barbed Wire match. Immanuel has done some very preliminary research and has already established that it is horrific. But Redemption, and the forced partnership with Tyreke Bell, are a full plate and a half in of themselves. Yes, from the entire EUW-Asylum roster, including many past opponents of Immanuel, Mark Rivera made the extra effort to pick the only one whom Immanuel managed to rob and subsequently blackmail, the only one who lunged forward and brawled with Immanuel after the exchange took place.
Immanuel stopped by a newspaper stand and bought today’s edition of the San Francisco Chronicle. He stopped one more time in front of the Basil Leaf Café but decided not to enter, feeling it was too….modern for his tastes. He blended back into the larger mass, aware that it shielded him from any potential onlookers.
This was Immanuel Taylor’s first tag team contest. This fact resonated strongly with him as he stood here side by side with a number of people he doesn’t know. So far, Immanuel has been in a barbaric Hardcore Rules fatal four way, a string of triple threat matches which he always lost, a barrage of singles match which he mostly won, a six man over the top battle royal and soon the Barbed Wire match at Scars and Stripes. Each new match twist gave Immanuel a new challenge, planting more obstacles into the fertile EUW-Asylum ground for Immanuel to overcome, yet the tag team twist filled Immanuel with more discomfort than all the predecessors.
The match itself is not complicated enough that it requires a philosophical reflection. Oh no. It’s very straightforward and, indeed, very innovative and economic. Instead of two separate single matches, team two against each other and allow the games to begin. Immanuel got his head around the concept of it but not the feasibility of it. For Immanuel, trusting other people was and continues to be akin to shooting yourself in the foot. The reason for that is simple. People, no matter how virtuous and holy, will always fail you.
Immanuel’s train of thought, which still runs even when he is taking a day off to stop himself from burning himself out, came to another figurative halting screech when Immanuel arrived at his destination. The Jackson Place Café, nestle in an alleyway connected but aloof from the day-to-day liveliness of the Financial District of San Francisco. Immanuel entered, spotted an empty single table and seat, placed his shoulder bag on it and proceeded to order a cup of coffee and lasagna.
For once, Immanuel has officially ordered something grander than a cup of coffee. Immanuel placed the Redemption tag team biography folder before proceeding to cut 10% of the lasagna off the whole unit and separating it. Since today is a day off, Immanuel tried to take the afternoon off and simply enjoy the sexiness of San Francisco.
He tried. He looked around him. Two old ladies with too much makeup on are discussing the art of dishwashing. A young girl on her cellphone, one of them Blueberries or Blackberries. A middle aged man enjoying a novel alongside cake and…umm..tea? The fluid looks kinda orangey. The man’s eyes darted off the pages of the novel and met Immanuel’s eyes, who turned them away and found himself focusing on his match folder. With that, Immanuel found himself unable to take a short break from confronting the main obstacle facing himself on Sunday the 24th, Teaming up with Tyreke Bell.
Trusting Tyreke was out of the question. Tyreke himself would be a fool if he extended any trust to Immanuel and expected any in return. Yet the question remains whether Tyreke can swallow his rightful hatred of Immanuel in order to function well as a team. Immanuel has no problem doing this and, in fact, Immanuel has nothing against Tyreke Bell. Even after he robbed Tyreke of his title, the one Tyreke beat Immanuel for, and blackmailed him with it for a rematch. Immanuel has nothing against Tyreke personally, all that has happened so far is pure business. Rivera stuck Immanuel in the Hardcore Division. What Immanuel did, the theft and blackmail, is a direct consequence of that.
Facing a cohesive and talented team such as Redemption as one half of a volatile team with a partner who really, really hates you is difficult.
But it’s doable.
Immanuel saw no obstacles in working alongside Church. Neither Church nor Immanuel could possibly work with each other but they could work side by side, alongside, as two men with one goal. Even with Church’s animosity towards Immanuel, Immanuel felt fairly sure that Church would do his part simply because Tyreke wants to win. Immanuel is sure of this. If Bell went through hell to get that Hardkore belt, including calling Immanuel out after he stole it, then he’d be able to do his part in the match or else he’d have to share a loss with Immanuel to Cripate and Bonelo, two newer additions to the EUW-Asylum complex. Immanuel has no delusions about Mr. Cripate and Mr. Bonelo. Together, they make a vicious team. Immanuel understands this. He just hopes that Tyreke Bell does.
Immanuel ate peacefully and diligently, not reflecting on anything for the moment being. He ate and observed his surroundings in the Jackson Place Café. He once again felt the advantage of this particular café; it’s modestly isolated position in a very lively district. One could tune out yet still feel a "part" of San Francisco. And the coffee is great too.
With these set of revelations also came an additional one concerning the fact that Immanuel's life, meaning his current employment and residence status, has seen some semblance of a routine to it. He's already memorized the names of the various streets, from Chestnut in the Financial District to Valencia in the Mission District. Immanuel's career also has seen a faint level of modesty attached to it. Yes, wrestling has introduced Immanuel to a plethora of characters and matches, including the upcoming Barbed Wire one, and brought along with it concentrated dozes of pain, especially in the Hardcore department, but it is a stable job. Painful and at times horrific, yes, but a godsend in this economy. And now, Immanuel has pinpointed a favorite café.
Immanuel put down his cup of coffee and finished the allocated 10% of his lasagna. The idea of domesticity and routine stung Immanuel in the chest area, made him feel slightly…trapped. Of course, when the idea of feeling trapped came to Immanuel's head, he immediately thought about the man who followed him that night at the Mission Dolores, Vitali Khodorkovsky. Immanuel, of course, did not know his name was Vitali Khodorkovsky but he's still got the image of that man embedded deep in his head. Tall, slightly muscular, not too much but enough, draped in black from neck to toe, and European-looking.
European. That alone took Immanuel to a place he did not want to go. Immanuel finished his cup of coffee, closed the Redemption and had the waiter wrap up the remaining 90% of the Lasagna to go before making his way back to the financial district. Upon making his way out of the slight alleyway, Immanuel walked straight into the mosaic of the large crowd and "went" with the flow. He passed by three blocks before stopping by a homeless women with two scantly clothed kids at another alleyway. Immanuel went out of the crowd and rushed deep into the alleyway, stopping at a considerable distance behind a trash can and then placing his shoulder bag on the top of a garbage bin.
Immanuel then proceeded to take out from something from his pants.
It's his Ruger LC9 handgun. Immanuel had it behind the trash can while to pretending to rummaging through his shoulder bag with both his eyes on the entrance of the alleway
Five minutes passed. Nothing unusual happened. The homeless woman kept her eyes focused on Immanuel, who looked silly standing there in his James Bond pose behind a trash can with the Ruger LC9 firmly in his right hand. Putting the aside how silly it looks, Immanuel knows exactly what he is doing. He is trained for situations such as these and has been in a handful of them previously. Immanuel waited for another minute. Nothing.
His eyes met the eyes of the homeless woman before he reconciled himself with the fact that no one is following him at this moment, including that European man, Vitali, whom Immanuel would have spotted instantly if he was there and so much as took a peak into the alleyway. Immanuel put the gun back into the pack of his pants, took out the leftover lasagna and closed his bag before draping it over his shoulder and placing the leftover lasagna next to the homeless woman and her kids. Immanuel, on his knees after placing the food, glanced to his left and right as the woman mumbled something in a foreign language.
Immanuel made his way out of the alleyway and quickly immersed himself into the San Francisco crowd, doing so until he became completely submerged into the heat of the Financial District of San Francisco, completely unidentifiable.
