Post by Luminous Robin on Jul 23, 2009 22:51:03 GMT -5
"Around one hundred years ago, humanity conquered the restrictions of gravity and learnt to fly. Today, flight is considered such a common commodity that any novelty it once held has long since passed, and any fear that one might hold for flying comes not from unfamiliarity, but from sabotage. Forty years ago, even before technology had reached the scale of advancement that it has today, mankind managed to forsake gravity one step further, and extend our capabilities just a little further than this Earth. Our technology, our advances in every aspect of life have allowed us to grow fat, and merry, and truly put the very concept of 'survival of the fittest' on its ear."
"But despite it all, are we any closer to figuring out the meaning of life?"
"You tell me, Cody."
"After all, every week, it's you who always seems so satisfied with your meagre accomplishments. It's you who exits the arena with an arrogant smirk plastered across your face like the craters on the face of the moon, whilst still thinking in the back of your head that you're entitled to so much more. Your alliances are fickle and based off of greed. Your 'friends' barely view you as anything more than how you view them, a stepping stone at best and a crutch at worst. And perhaps the worst thing is that, instead of becoming enraged at my accusations, I can't see you doing much more than shrugging them off, since it's apparent to me that I'm not saying anything that anyone, including yourselves, doesn't already know."
"Perhaps that's what drives you, the very idea that if it wasn't for these people to take your slack and hold your hand, you'd be even less of a noteworthy person than you already are. That's what you are, Cody, you're a footnote, in both victory and defeat, someone as memorable as a hand puppet without the slightest hint of decoration who is forgotten the second he's no longer presented before an audience. Everyone is well aware that you only stand for yourself, that you fight for greed, and power, and fame, and wealth and every other vapid reason that could possibly be used as a justification for the vital weeks you take off your life every week you step into the ring. You've taken 'him' on, many a time, and as far as I recall, you've beaten 'him' on many an occasion as well."
"But have you learnt anything?"
"Because if you haven't, then it's all been a waste. What have you thrown away for one single win and nothing more, just for a 'tick' in a box? Did you aspire to improve your skills, test your durability, learn your own limits? If you learnt none of these things at least, then perhaps there is no hope for you in this industry, regardless of whether it is in that 'blood' of yours, which you have a nasty habit of leaving all over the place. Perhaps there is logic in this 'Orton' gentleman in using you as the pawn that you're proactively going out of your way to be."
"Oh, didn't you realise? Unfortunately for you, it's relatively obvious to every single third party. It makes sense for somebody so machiavellian to exploit one such as yourself, who is happy to display their own faults, their own shortcomings, and their own insecurities on display like clothes on a washing line. You're everything he needs. You're gullible, you're pretentious, you're good at following orders at the very least, but most of all, Cody Rhodes, you're disposable. A number. Someone that Randy Orton or, hell, even Evan Bourne if he actually discovered that spine he has a habit of trying to break, can get rid of as soon as they see the need. And it will be a 'need', Cody. Did you envision yourself as part of their plans for long?"
"Oh, how I wish I had the time to sit back and watch the little puppet show the three of you are trying to play, with you and Evan so blissfully naive that it is Orton who holds the strings. How I'd love to see the moment when the strings get tangled, and he's forced to cut you loose."
"But I can't. Because I have to face 'him'."
"I have to earn my wings."
_____________________________
So this was barbed wire. Funny. He would have thought that they'd have met before. It really was a firm handshake it was giving.
The light flickers, a gentle draught with no immediate source causing it to sway like a pendulum in the bunker where Robin found himself taking residence, the temporary dimming of light serving to hide the filth of the joint, if only for the briefest of moments. The training 'equipment', if such a term could possibly be used for such husks, was dust covered and rusted. What little carpet actually remained was sodden and rotting. The brickwork, which from the layout couldn't have possibly been a masterpiece even when it was first created, is littered with graffiti, a deep crimson surrounding the room, repeating the same phrase over and over. 'Quote the Raven Nevermore.'
And there, in the centre of this archaelogical tragedy, stands the corvid in question. A ring as haggard as the man himself, with no elastic coating the turnbuckles, but strands of only the finest barbed wire, perhaps the only 'new' thing - other than Robin, of course - to actually make its residence here. The wire takes the strain, as Robin stands, naked as the day that he was plucked from the womb, and idly leans against it. Weaving its way amongst the numerous tattoos, the skin pierces, and runs deeper, a deep cut beginning to form. Blood slowly trickles down between the curvature of the spine, drifting past the buttocks, the thigh, the calf, and to the mat. Despite it all, Robin stands completely stonefaced.
After all, his mentor was right there with him.
Deep breaths coursed through what appeared to be a cut lip of Robin's, a few inches beneath a blackened eye and lacerations to the forehead that appeared to only just be healing. Raven stood, a smirk coyly creeping its way onto his face, to watch his apprentice endure with such determination. It was almost 'cute'. Robin closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation just a little more, but no sooner than his visibility vanishes, a hand collides with the side of his face, the slap sending a shockwave down his body, not so much from the impact itself, but from the involuntary jerk that forces the barbed wire deeper into the already penetrated flesh. Robin cries out in agony, which from Raven's face, is music to his ears, even if he did have to be stern for the time.
"Don't force it," Raven mutters softly, barely above a whisper, "If it isn't coming naturally, then forcing it won't do you any favours." Robin nodded, semi-sincerely, if only to distract himself from the dull throb eminating from his shoulders. The flow of blood had naturally increased, and from the look of both the mat at his feet and his rear profile, one would assume that he had just walked out of the rain during the Apocalypse itself. Robin teases with the idea of biting his lip, unsure if it would be enough of a visual cue to warrant another punishment.
"Sunday." Raven begins anew. "I'm going to hurt you, you know that?" Robin nods.
"And I want you to hurt me. You know that too?" Robin nods again. Raven simply smirks.
"Good."
The toe of a boot collides with bare genitals. Robin's barely given the time to gasp out what half-inhaled air is present in his lungs before he involuntarily collapses to the mat, his flesh tearing loose from the barbs like velcrow. He tries to summon up the air just to whine, but he can't manage it. He just writhes, gasps, squirms, like a fish out of water, the colour practically draining from his cheeks. Raven kneels down, shushing him much like he would a baby and placing his finger to Robin's lips, in barely the most calming gesture. When it fails to placate him, Raven decides a more suitable method, and forcibly grabs a chunk of hair, yanking Robin's head up to look at him.
Robin gets the point, and as if by magic, he doesn't feel like squirming anymore.
"Poor little Robin, fallen from your nest." Raven mumbles, a teasing little lift on every syllable. "The predators are watching. Best learn to fly very soon."
He slams Robin's head into the canvas, granting him permission to mope over his pain for the time. And at first, he does. Wriggling from side to side, slowly Robin is able to pull himself back up to his feet. His back is a crimson mess. Blood and saliva trickles from between his teeth to the canvas. His stance is unsteady. He reaches out, grasping onto the barbed wire as if it were nothing, and using it to hold himself upright. Raven watches intently as Robin's face rises.
He's smiling.
_____________________________
"I'm not deaf, you know. I've been listening very carefully to what everyone's had to say. I'm being exploited. Used. I'm limiting myself. I'm helping someone who doesn't deserve help. I deserve better than this. Practically every single shortcoming that could possibly be used to describe the relationship between me and 'him', and curiously, every single one of them seems to be at his expense. Whenever I hear that, I can't help but smile. Not because I'm an arrogant person soaking up the praise, but because of how narrow minded most of the critics are. As if I had no purpose in following him. Don't be impudent. Of course I had a purpose. And that was to find a greater purpose in life itself."
"Unlike most of you, when I came into this industry, I had no goals, no aims, anything other than to simply suck up what little fun the rest of you, with your greed and perpetuating hatred, hadn't quite managed to suck up. Once I realised that wasn't going to last, and I saw him, speaking like a profit, haggard from war time, I had to know what it was that kept him here. What it was that forced him to come out every week, for decades on end, to subject the human body to a level of torture that it was never intended to withstand using objects never intended to be used as weaponry, if they were intended to be used for any purpose at all. It took ten weeks, and ten victories, before I finally understood."
"'He' puts himself through the pain, for the pain itself. And he does so with a smile on his face, because only he knows how to truly enjoy it."
"Not anymore."
"Every single time a muscle overextends, or a limb bends the wrong way, or a fist collides with the side of my face, I have to try not to smile. Every single time a nerve sends that familiar twinge of agony to my brain, I can't help but appreciate the extremeity of what 'feeling' itself is. Pain is the embodiment of human nature. The one thing that we have forced ourselves to endure over time so that we can make these technological advances, so that we could endure on and withstand the test of time. Somewhere along the line, when this was no longer a necessity, we forgot how to endure, and made it nigh impossible for ourselves to learn how to go one step forward - and learn how to enjoy. Almost made me forget why I became such a hedonist in the first place."
"And that's why he carries on. 'He' loves to endure everything that an opponent can possibly throw at him, thinking to themselves with a smug sense of satisfaction that they are bringing a level of inhumanity that no man could possibly endure, and he accepts it with a smile on his face, laughing at their pitiful efforts and merely laughing them off as if every chair shot were a pleasant cranial massage. 'He' loves to return fire with just as much, rending and tearing like a machine, to see if there is any other with the same level of endurance as himself, an ongoing exodus of agony which only perpetuates itself with its own reward, the very idea that he can enjoy watching you squirm and exploit the fact that you never developed the same outlook on pain as us."
"And now, I feel it too. With every single blow, and every single frown on your faces, my smile grows. Oh, how sensual pain is. I dare say erotic."
"The reason I was so drawn to him...is because he is the purpose I was looking for. The Raven is his own test of humanity, a wooden training dummy begging for someone to break him, a warrior begging to fall so that he can take his place in Valhalla. Looking for someone who has achieved the same level of sanguine understanding as he has. We are one and the same. Flying the same course with lacerated wings, a robin and a raven, bleeding down onto the ruined Earth below us and cawing happily as we go."
"I understand now. Now, I merely have to endure."
"Truly...there is no better way to learn than experience, right?"
"Sunday, we dance. The Raven introduces me to a level of exquisite suffering which I can only imagine, and how it fills me with glee."
"Sunday, the Robin gains its wings."
"By tearing off the Raven's."
"But despite it all, are we any closer to figuring out the meaning of life?"
"You tell me, Cody."
"After all, every week, it's you who always seems so satisfied with your meagre accomplishments. It's you who exits the arena with an arrogant smirk plastered across your face like the craters on the face of the moon, whilst still thinking in the back of your head that you're entitled to so much more. Your alliances are fickle and based off of greed. Your 'friends' barely view you as anything more than how you view them, a stepping stone at best and a crutch at worst. And perhaps the worst thing is that, instead of becoming enraged at my accusations, I can't see you doing much more than shrugging them off, since it's apparent to me that I'm not saying anything that anyone, including yourselves, doesn't already know."
"Perhaps that's what drives you, the very idea that if it wasn't for these people to take your slack and hold your hand, you'd be even less of a noteworthy person than you already are. That's what you are, Cody, you're a footnote, in both victory and defeat, someone as memorable as a hand puppet without the slightest hint of decoration who is forgotten the second he's no longer presented before an audience. Everyone is well aware that you only stand for yourself, that you fight for greed, and power, and fame, and wealth and every other vapid reason that could possibly be used as a justification for the vital weeks you take off your life every week you step into the ring. You've taken 'him' on, many a time, and as far as I recall, you've beaten 'him' on many an occasion as well."
"But have you learnt anything?"
"Because if you haven't, then it's all been a waste. What have you thrown away for one single win and nothing more, just for a 'tick' in a box? Did you aspire to improve your skills, test your durability, learn your own limits? If you learnt none of these things at least, then perhaps there is no hope for you in this industry, regardless of whether it is in that 'blood' of yours, which you have a nasty habit of leaving all over the place. Perhaps there is logic in this 'Orton' gentleman in using you as the pawn that you're proactively going out of your way to be."
"Oh, didn't you realise? Unfortunately for you, it's relatively obvious to every single third party. It makes sense for somebody so machiavellian to exploit one such as yourself, who is happy to display their own faults, their own shortcomings, and their own insecurities on display like clothes on a washing line. You're everything he needs. You're gullible, you're pretentious, you're good at following orders at the very least, but most of all, Cody Rhodes, you're disposable. A number. Someone that Randy Orton or, hell, even Evan Bourne if he actually discovered that spine he has a habit of trying to break, can get rid of as soon as they see the need. And it will be a 'need', Cody. Did you envision yourself as part of their plans for long?"
"Oh, how I wish I had the time to sit back and watch the little puppet show the three of you are trying to play, with you and Evan so blissfully naive that it is Orton who holds the strings. How I'd love to see the moment when the strings get tangled, and he's forced to cut you loose."
"But I can't. Because I have to face 'him'."
"I have to earn my wings."
_____________________________
So this was barbed wire. Funny. He would have thought that they'd have met before. It really was a firm handshake it was giving.
The light flickers, a gentle draught with no immediate source causing it to sway like a pendulum in the bunker where Robin found himself taking residence, the temporary dimming of light serving to hide the filth of the joint, if only for the briefest of moments. The training 'equipment', if such a term could possibly be used for such husks, was dust covered and rusted. What little carpet actually remained was sodden and rotting. The brickwork, which from the layout couldn't have possibly been a masterpiece even when it was first created, is littered with graffiti, a deep crimson surrounding the room, repeating the same phrase over and over. 'Quote the Raven Nevermore.'
And there, in the centre of this archaelogical tragedy, stands the corvid in question. A ring as haggard as the man himself, with no elastic coating the turnbuckles, but strands of only the finest barbed wire, perhaps the only 'new' thing - other than Robin, of course - to actually make its residence here. The wire takes the strain, as Robin stands, naked as the day that he was plucked from the womb, and idly leans against it. Weaving its way amongst the numerous tattoos, the skin pierces, and runs deeper, a deep cut beginning to form. Blood slowly trickles down between the curvature of the spine, drifting past the buttocks, the thigh, the calf, and to the mat. Despite it all, Robin stands completely stonefaced.
After all, his mentor was right there with him.
Deep breaths coursed through what appeared to be a cut lip of Robin's, a few inches beneath a blackened eye and lacerations to the forehead that appeared to only just be healing. Raven stood, a smirk coyly creeping its way onto his face, to watch his apprentice endure with such determination. It was almost 'cute'. Robin closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation just a little more, but no sooner than his visibility vanishes, a hand collides with the side of his face, the slap sending a shockwave down his body, not so much from the impact itself, but from the involuntary jerk that forces the barbed wire deeper into the already penetrated flesh. Robin cries out in agony, which from Raven's face, is music to his ears, even if he did have to be stern for the time.
"Don't force it," Raven mutters softly, barely above a whisper, "If it isn't coming naturally, then forcing it won't do you any favours." Robin nodded, semi-sincerely, if only to distract himself from the dull throb eminating from his shoulders. The flow of blood had naturally increased, and from the look of both the mat at his feet and his rear profile, one would assume that he had just walked out of the rain during the Apocalypse itself. Robin teases with the idea of biting his lip, unsure if it would be enough of a visual cue to warrant another punishment.
"Sunday." Raven begins anew. "I'm going to hurt you, you know that?" Robin nods.
"And I want you to hurt me. You know that too?" Robin nods again. Raven simply smirks.
"Good."
The toe of a boot collides with bare genitals. Robin's barely given the time to gasp out what half-inhaled air is present in his lungs before he involuntarily collapses to the mat, his flesh tearing loose from the barbs like velcrow. He tries to summon up the air just to whine, but he can't manage it. He just writhes, gasps, squirms, like a fish out of water, the colour practically draining from his cheeks. Raven kneels down, shushing him much like he would a baby and placing his finger to Robin's lips, in barely the most calming gesture. When it fails to placate him, Raven decides a more suitable method, and forcibly grabs a chunk of hair, yanking Robin's head up to look at him.
Robin gets the point, and as if by magic, he doesn't feel like squirming anymore.
"Poor little Robin, fallen from your nest." Raven mumbles, a teasing little lift on every syllable. "The predators are watching. Best learn to fly very soon."
He slams Robin's head into the canvas, granting him permission to mope over his pain for the time. And at first, he does. Wriggling from side to side, slowly Robin is able to pull himself back up to his feet. His back is a crimson mess. Blood and saliva trickles from between his teeth to the canvas. His stance is unsteady. He reaches out, grasping onto the barbed wire as if it were nothing, and using it to hold himself upright. Raven watches intently as Robin's face rises.
He's smiling.
_____________________________
"I'm not deaf, you know. I've been listening very carefully to what everyone's had to say. I'm being exploited. Used. I'm limiting myself. I'm helping someone who doesn't deserve help. I deserve better than this. Practically every single shortcoming that could possibly be used to describe the relationship between me and 'him', and curiously, every single one of them seems to be at his expense. Whenever I hear that, I can't help but smile. Not because I'm an arrogant person soaking up the praise, but because of how narrow minded most of the critics are. As if I had no purpose in following him. Don't be impudent. Of course I had a purpose. And that was to find a greater purpose in life itself."
"Unlike most of you, when I came into this industry, I had no goals, no aims, anything other than to simply suck up what little fun the rest of you, with your greed and perpetuating hatred, hadn't quite managed to suck up. Once I realised that wasn't going to last, and I saw him, speaking like a profit, haggard from war time, I had to know what it was that kept him here. What it was that forced him to come out every week, for decades on end, to subject the human body to a level of torture that it was never intended to withstand using objects never intended to be used as weaponry, if they were intended to be used for any purpose at all. It took ten weeks, and ten victories, before I finally understood."
"'He' puts himself through the pain, for the pain itself. And he does so with a smile on his face, because only he knows how to truly enjoy it."
"Not anymore."
"Every single time a muscle overextends, or a limb bends the wrong way, or a fist collides with the side of my face, I have to try not to smile. Every single time a nerve sends that familiar twinge of agony to my brain, I can't help but appreciate the extremeity of what 'feeling' itself is. Pain is the embodiment of human nature. The one thing that we have forced ourselves to endure over time so that we can make these technological advances, so that we could endure on and withstand the test of time. Somewhere along the line, when this was no longer a necessity, we forgot how to endure, and made it nigh impossible for ourselves to learn how to go one step forward - and learn how to enjoy. Almost made me forget why I became such a hedonist in the first place."
"And that's why he carries on. 'He' loves to endure everything that an opponent can possibly throw at him, thinking to themselves with a smug sense of satisfaction that they are bringing a level of inhumanity that no man could possibly endure, and he accepts it with a smile on his face, laughing at their pitiful efforts and merely laughing them off as if every chair shot were a pleasant cranial massage. 'He' loves to return fire with just as much, rending and tearing like a machine, to see if there is any other with the same level of endurance as himself, an ongoing exodus of agony which only perpetuates itself with its own reward, the very idea that he can enjoy watching you squirm and exploit the fact that you never developed the same outlook on pain as us."
"And now, I feel it too. With every single blow, and every single frown on your faces, my smile grows. Oh, how sensual pain is. I dare say erotic."
"The reason I was so drawn to him...is because he is the purpose I was looking for. The Raven is his own test of humanity, a wooden training dummy begging for someone to break him, a warrior begging to fall so that he can take his place in Valhalla. Looking for someone who has achieved the same level of sanguine understanding as he has. We are one and the same. Flying the same course with lacerated wings, a robin and a raven, bleeding down onto the ruined Earth below us and cawing happily as we go."
"I understand now. Now, I merely have to endure."
"Truly...there is no better way to learn than experience, right?"
"Sunday, we dance. The Raven introduces me to a level of exquisite suffering which I can only imagine, and how it fills me with glee."
"Sunday, the Robin gains its wings."
"By tearing off the Raven's."