Post by Mr. C on Jun 29, 2008 21:15:05 GMT -5
T-Eh Key: Enemies - Black Tom's Thoughts - Red The RP - White |
Welcome to my new poser affected Tom Roberts PPV RP extravaganza! This is a new, wonky style that I'm working the kinks out of, but it's fun to write, and, hopefully it'll get me a big, fat, upside-down M.
Tom stood affront the flames, just staring in to the inferno. Inside that fire, every thought he had danced in the embers. Matches and titles won, and then matches and titles lost, his past, his future, his friends, his enemies -- every vision of his mind was replayed in the blaze.
Tom could clearly make out distinct memories inside the flashes of oranges and reds. He saw himself scaling the ladder to win the tag-titles with Warrior. He saw himself defeating M&M to win the tag-titles for The Eh-Team. He saw himself defeating Warrior for the EUW Title. He saw himself defeating current EUW Champion Lincoln Daggerson and coming out victorious in the Downpour Elimination match. Lincoln, a man he respected, fell to him. Warrior, a man he teamed with, fell to him. Inside the bonfire, he could see that The Religion of Hate and Falcon and Xander would fall before him too.
The Eh tilted his head, trying to make out more of the thousands of visions in the flames. But, as he did, he realized that it wasn't just the fire that held imagery. The waves of heat emitted off the blaze had illusions that spiraled and vibrated in them as well. The smoke from the burning of the table also held wispy visions. The heat of the entire scene cast a bead of sweat from his brow to his nose, and it splattered to the ground in an explosion of thoughts and memories.
He tore his gaze from the flames and looked around, seeing that the entire room was no longer what it was supposed to be. The walls were turning and contorting, twisting against the supports and architectural common sense. He took a step back, and nearly fell, as he looked down, the ground was bubbling underneath him, and every bubble that burst cast liquid fragments of tile that reached out for his feet, attempting to pull him in to the horrible day-dream of a molten lava floor.
Everything was out to get him. Err... me. I'm not used to the first person, yet.
Tom felt safe inside his new attire. It was a full body suit, in this day and age, no one could be to careful. He had sewn it for himself during the two week absence. The only real opening on the entire suit was two slots for his eyes. But, even that wasn't a true opening, the eye holes were covered too, and completely removed the eyeball of any color. It was pure white. Tom was completely protected from the outside, and the only bit of him that shown to the outside world was bright white purity.
But safe on the outside, and pure on the inside he was not. To Tom, everything, everywhere was out to get him. His mind constantly plays tricks on him, giving him dreams where he became a demon, or was a beast that had its head torn from his body. He would be trapped in a maze in his mind, and would have to transverse mazes that his psyche developed in real life, too. Every day was a struggle, every day was a battle.
In fact, Tom's life was a war. You mean my? You're doing it again.
He shut his eyes tight, pressing both palms in to his eye sockets. He pressed the palms in hard, getting an all encompassing pain as he smashed his eyeballs in, trying to remove the visions simply by smashing his tools of vision like grapes. He pressed harder and harder, but even with his eyes shut, the flashes of color seemed to reach out like the tentacles of a Pink Floyd invented Octopus to pull him in to the dark abyss. He gave up, and shook the thoughts from his head instead. After what seemed to him like an eternity of thrashing, he opened his eyes, and there he stood, standing right above the flaming table, staring straight down.
Four enemies stared back, yo. Yeah, I used yo in this time of intensity. Comedic relief, even Shakespeare used it.
Michael de'Archangel. Rage Rodriguez. Alex Falcon. Xander X.
Michael's picture was on the far right, and his picture had the most of it still intact. Tom gazed down and saw the sick smile that opened up to those pearly white fangs. The smile was grotesque in its connotations, in the fact that he was smiling for his love to deliver pain. A smile, is the human minds way to deal with pleasure. To de'Archangel, that is pleasure. But, his eyes did not show what the curves of his lips did. His eyes instead showed to Tom that he was uncertain with what he was smiling for. His eyes were uneasy, because he knew he was not unique in this trait, and that perhaps there were others that fed off of pain in completely different ways as well. Which got Tom thinking, any time he wanted something, he had to struggle for it. His life was a war zone, and everything he had, he fought for. To get the prize, he always had a fair amount of pain. He was no different than his enemy, de'Archangel, except for one thing. When he feed off of others' pain, he reaped success from it. And then, the paper curled, and disappeared in to ashes.
Next over, was the second member of the Religion of Hate, Rage Rodriguez. And, somehow the flames had torn his picture in two, dividing him entirely. One half was brightened by the flames, the other was nearly completely devoured by darkness and ashes. When Tom saw this second picture, he was almost sad. He knew instantly the coincidence in this, and the flames seemed to know what they were doing. They tore Rodriguez in two, the two sides of the man they could face this week. On the bright side, they could face the mild mannered Rodriguez, the push-over, the jobber that EUW had known. Or, Tom could receive the hate-filled Rage Rodriguez. The man who actually had drive, the other half of The Religion of Hate. The other half of would-be champions if he was the one who stepped up to the plate. Yet, the Rage side was devoured first. Rage Rodriguez was out of the picture, and the brighter half slowly began to burn, too. Tom Roberts saw that this picture took itself out from the get go, being divided by the flames before most other pictures began to blacken.
Alex Falcon's picture was middle of the ground in how far it had gone, but for some reason, the face had been burnt out of this first. Why? Tom could only assume that he never truly knew the man. Alex Falcon was in a team that rose up very quickly, and didn't deserve what they were getting in this. Or did they? They definitely did rise to the occasion, but in the ways of the determination and battles that the Religion of Hate and his own team had been in, Tom felt it wasn't quite fair. But, Falcon knew what he was doing. He had indeed faced Lincoln Daggerson, current EUW Champion. But, he lost. When Tom faced him, he was victorious, and in the back of his mind, he was oozing with confidence. Alex Falcon's picture quickly burned up. For, as little as Tom knew of him, he knew one thing. Falcon knew just as much for his team.
Then, lastly and by process of elimination, Xander X's photo was upside down, and nearly completely charred. Tom knew even less of Xander than he did of Alex Falcon, and he was the only man in this war he did not fear. But, was he still present? Of course, the picture still had to burn on that table. Tom shook his head and realized he was spending far to much time psychoanalyzing little pieces of paper, and when he did, he realized the sprinkler system had kicked in. From the ceiling, several small steel contraptions sprinkled water down on to the scene, attempting to douse the flames that had set off fire alarm in the venue. Tom, slowly becoming saturated by the sprinkler systems went to turn and leave, and as he did, was blasted right in the gut with a high-powered fire house, that sent him sprawled out through the table. Four firemen ran in, apologizing quickly to the superstar in red and black. As they helped him up, his mind wandered again.
Yup, that settles it. Every man is for himself. This war is on like pron.