Post by Nate Pierce on Jun 10, 2023 3:27:22 GMT
Nate: “God’s sake why does this one have to be such a damn fighter…”
Severin: “Keep it steady. Ishmael, hurry up and whack the damn thing on the head.”
Ishmael: “I’m trying here! God dammit….STAY STILL!”
A dull thud is heard followed by a lame flap of a tail against the docks. For viewer discretion, the shot fades into the sight of the three fishermen from the waist up though there are evident blood splatters covering their overalls, most likely from the thrashing fish they had to put down. Ishmael retches for a moment at the smell that wafts up though both Severin and Nate seem to keep their cool over it. Nate pushes himself up to his feet, gloves caked in a bit of fish guts and gore, pulling on the straps to ensure everything was still on secure and snug.
Nate: “You want me to carry it back?”
Severin: “No, I’ll handle it with Ishmael once he stops gagging over there.”
Ishmael: “It’s so damn foul smelling…hrrrk….”
Severin: “Ish, we’ve been fishing here for how long?”
Ishmael: “Too long…god...if it weren’t for the pay, the smell alone would’ve kept me away from the fishery.”
Severin rolls his eyes, hauling part of the once floundering fish up by its tail.
Severin: “Quit whining and just help me drag the damn thing will you? Sooner we get this done, the sooner we can look at going home. Nate, you mind just watching the general area to see if anyone else needs help.”
Nate: “Aye.”
Severin nudges Ishmael with an elbow, trying to speed him along in assisting with the haul. The retching fisherman soon complies, lugging the big fish down the docks, leading to some passerby to step aside to give them a clear path while a couple others pitch in to help with carrying it back. Nate stares at his gloved hands for a moment, face scrunching up a bit at the mess quite literally on hand.
Nate: “Always the big ones that tend to be the most difficult to take care of out here. Suppose it can’t be helped in this industry or anywhere for that matter.”
The Whaler shakes his head, wiping his hands down on his overalls, fish remnants being smeared on his work attire.
Nate: “Not too long ago, I did what many people were struggling to achieve and that’s help Alastor Touch-down a peg to give him a much needed dose of reality. Odds heavily stacked against me, I outsmarted and outlasted not only him but both Tuna and JGR to become this company’s newest champion, ushering in the latest age that the National Openweight Championship is yet to fully bear witness to…and Long decides to pit me against Alastor for Round Two?”
A momentary look of confusion crosses Nate’s face but it quickly fades back to his usual, serious looking demeanor.
Nate: “I don’t exactly know what the plot for this endeavor is but he the head honcho thinks that one beating wasn’t enough to slap some sense back into Alastor’s skull then who am I to deny a second helping of making him crash and burn?”
He laughs, beginning to pace his way down the docks.
Nate: “If it’s anything to go by, the Alastor Era died the day I bodied Team Touchdown and you all saw that post-match interview he gave in the wake of his reign being toppled by an ordinary fisherman coming from New England. I’m not even his main target anymore yet I’m still within his line of sight for whatever reasons when I know it’s Jimi Coulson he wants since the man emerged from the shadows and found an immediate rise to the near top of the mountain while Alastor was stuck having to do battle with me. Guess that’s what happens when you don’t really pay attention to your surroundings huh, Alastor?”
Another chuckle.
Nate: “I don’t care how much he tries to mask the pain when he’s in front of a camera because everyone saw with their own eyes that I broke him. I took him by his neck, held him up in the air, and spiked his skull into the canvas below with no help in sight. He. Was. Finished. Defeated, broken, and helpless against a one man tank. Is this rematch bound to be any different? Hell no. The last time I was involved in any kind of match of this caliber, knowing my opponent, I lost it all because of other parties sticking their hands in the pie to mess it all up. I had a prize taken from me, blindsided in an instant, and all that effort was practically rendered null and void.. Not again…I will not, can not afford the same instance to repeat itself when I fought against so many odds to get where I am.”
Nate takes a moment to crack his knuckles, stopping by the water’s edge to gaze upon the Atlantic.
Nate: “There’s always the old, classic saying of how history is bound to repeat itself and in this reality, there are two paths that this chapter could follow. One I’m fighting for, and the other is one that wants to wash away the mark I’ve left in this company since its return from hiatus, to undo everything I’ve fought for. No…my mind already has a destination in mind and it’s one that completely erases the name Alastor Touchdown from the National Openweight scene for good, expunging the stain he has left on this title. You won’t be getting it back, no matter how many aces you keep hidden in your sleeve. The odds are stacked against me once more but just like how I did it in AXW, how I did it against Hank Haggard Jr. how PRICE and I did it to make the finals despite the efforts you and JGR put in to wear him down, I overcame and conquered what was on my path.”
The Whaler shifts his jaw around for a couple moments, faintly cracking it a couple times.
Nate: “Alastor, when we meet again in only a few days’ time…there will be no prisoners like last time. I plan on spilling blood because despite the whole image and ideas people have about me being the lovable big man that works out of a fishery four times out of the week, I’m just as bloodthirsty as the others of Chaos Theory. You stand in my way, you fall. Fight against me? Then pay with blood. If it’s a definitive end that Long wants, then I’ll give him one for the highlight reel so people know I’m not just The Whaler…but the bloody shark who won’t flinch at the thought of putting someone six leagues under to prove a point in this industry.”
Nate turns his attention back over to the camera, staring it down with an uncharacteristically cold glare.
Nate: “I’m the one who deserves to be champion in this day and age of Infinite Pro. You had your time to say your goodbyes to the precious gold that once sat in your grasp before I took it from you to make it my own. This second coming stands as a test to showcase just how much of a worthy man I am in that ring to take a stand against the three who would otherwise dare to keep playing cops and robbers within the locker room in order to keep the barely lit fires of their egos still stoked and ready to burn at a moment’s notice. Well the time for that is god damn over. You aren’t the locker room leader anymore, Alastor, and neither are you the National Openweight champion. Learn to acknowledge the fact that you can’t topple an immovable object. Maybe then reality will become much clearer for you and then everyone can get to see the real you once I break you in front of your cronies a second time.”
He gives a casual throat slash with his thumb.
Nate: “I’ll make sure Davy Jones preps you a welcome party for when I keelhaul your ass into the Pacific. Your voyage is at its end.”
He lets out final and brief chuckle before trudging off, leaving the shot with the sounds of the waves ebbing and flowing against the docks’ end before fading to black.
Severin: “Keep it steady. Ishmael, hurry up and whack the damn thing on the head.”
Ishmael: “I’m trying here! God dammit….STAY STILL!”
A dull thud is heard followed by a lame flap of a tail against the docks. For viewer discretion, the shot fades into the sight of the three fishermen from the waist up though there are evident blood splatters covering their overalls, most likely from the thrashing fish they had to put down. Ishmael retches for a moment at the smell that wafts up though both Severin and Nate seem to keep their cool over it. Nate pushes himself up to his feet, gloves caked in a bit of fish guts and gore, pulling on the straps to ensure everything was still on secure and snug.
Nate: “You want me to carry it back?”
Severin: “No, I’ll handle it with Ishmael once he stops gagging over there.”
Ishmael: “It’s so damn foul smelling…hrrrk….”
Severin: “Ish, we’ve been fishing here for how long?”
Ishmael: “Too long…god...if it weren’t for the pay, the smell alone would’ve kept me away from the fishery.”
Severin rolls his eyes, hauling part of the once floundering fish up by its tail.
Severin: “Quit whining and just help me drag the damn thing will you? Sooner we get this done, the sooner we can look at going home. Nate, you mind just watching the general area to see if anyone else needs help.”
Nate: “Aye.”
Severin nudges Ishmael with an elbow, trying to speed him along in assisting with the haul. The retching fisherman soon complies, lugging the big fish down the docks, leading to some passerby to step aside to give them a clear path while a couple others pitch in to help with carrying it back. Nate stares at his gloved hands for a moment, face scrunching up a bit at the mess quite literally on hand.
Nate: “Always the big ones that tend to be the most difficult to take care of out here. Suppose it can’t be helped in this industry or anywhere for that matter.”
The Whaler shakes his head, wiping his hands down on his overalls, fish remnants being smeared on his work attire.
Nate: “Not too long ago, I did what many people were struggling to achieve and that’s help Alastor Touch-down a peg to give him a much needed dose of reality. Odds heavily stacked against me, I outsmarted and outlasted not only him but both Tuna and JGR to become this company’s newest champion, ushering in the latest age that the National Openweight Championship is yet to fully bear witness to…and Long decides to pit me against Alastor for Round Two?”
A momentary look of confusion crosses Nate’s face but it quickly fades back to his usual, serious looking demeanor.
Nate: “I don’t exactly know what the plot for this endeavor is but he the head honcho thinks that one beating wasn’t enough to slap some sense back into Alastor’s skull then who am I to deny a second helping of making him crash and burn?”
He laughs, beginning to pace his way down the docks.
Nate: “If it’s anything to go by, the Alastor Era died the day I bodied Team Touchdown and you all saw that post-match interview he gave in the wake of his reign being toppled by an ordinary fisherman coming from New England. I’m not even his main target anymore yet I’m still within his line of sight for whatever reasons when I know it’s Jimi Coulson he wants since the man emerged from the shadows and found an immediate rise to the near top of the mountain while Alastor was stuck having to do battle with me. Guess that’s what happens when you don’t really pay attention to your surroundings huh, Alastor?”
Another chuckle.
Nate: “I don’t care how much he tries to mask the pain when he’s in front of a camera because everyone saw with their own eyes that I broke him. I took him by his neck, held him up in the air, and spiked his skull into the canvas below with no help in sight. He. Was. Finished. Defeated, broken, and helpless against a one man tank. Is this rematch bound to be any different? Hell no. The last time I was involved in any kind of match of this caliber, knowing my opponent, I lost it all because of other parties sticking their hands in the pie to mess it all up. I had a prize taken from me, blindsided in an instant, and all that effort was practically rendered null and void.. Not again…I will not, can not afford the same instance to repeat itself when I fought against so many odds to get where I am.”
Nate takes a moment to crack his knuckles, stopping by the water’s edge to gaze upon the Atlantic.
Nate: “There’s always the old, classic saying of how history is bound to repeat itself and in this reality, there are two paths that this chapter could follow. One I’m fighting for, and the other is one that wants to wash away the mark I’ve left in this company since its return from hiatus, to undo everything I’ve fought for. No…my mind already has a destination in mind and it’s one that completely erases the name Alastor Touchdown from the National Openweight scene for good, expunging the stain he has left on this title. You won’t be getting it back, no matter how many aces you keep hidden in your sleeve. The odds are stacked against me once more but just like how I did it in AXW, how I did it against Hank Haggard Jr. how PRICE and I did it to make the finals despite the efforts you and JGR put in to wear him down, I overcame and conquered what was on my path.”
The Whaler shifts his jaw around for a couple moments, faintly cracking it a couple times.
Nate: “Alastor, when we meet again in only a few days’ time…there will be no prisoners like last time. I plan on spilling blood because despite the whole image and ideas people have about me being the lovable big man that works out of a fishery four times out of the week, I’m just as bloodthirsty as the others of Chaos Theory. You stand in my way, you fall. Fight against me? Then pay with blood. If it’s a definitive end that Long wants, then I’ll give him one for the highlight reel so people know I’m not just The Whaler…but the bloody shark who won’t flinch at the thought of putting someone six leagues under to prove a point in this industry.”
Nate turns his attention back over to the camera, staring it down with an uncharacteristically cold glare.
Nate: “I’m the one who deserves to be champion in this day and age of Infinite Pro. You had your time to say your goodbyes to the precious gold that once sat in your grasp before I took it from you to make it my own. This second coming stands as a test to showcase just how much of a worthy man I am in that ring to take a stand against the three who would otherwise dare to keep playing cops and robbers within the locker room in order to keep the barely lit fires of their egos still stoked and ready to burn at a moment’s notice. Well the time for that is god damn over. You aren’t the locker room leader anymore, Alastor, and neither are you the National Openweight champion. Learn to acknowledge the fact that you can’t topple an immovable object. Maybe then reality will become much clearer for you and then everyone can get to see the real you once I break you in front of your cronies a second time.”
He gives a casual throat slash with his thumb.
Nate: “I’ll make sure Davy Jones preps you a welcome party for when I keelhaul your ass into the Pacific. Your voyage is at its end.”
He lets out final and brief chuckle before trudging off, leaving the shot with the sounds of the waves ebbing and flowing against the docks’ end before fading to black.