Mitch Heart Vs. Sebastian Hawke

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Webmistress Barbie Administrator Posts: 221	Mitch Heart Vs. Sebastian Hawke Sept 8, 2020 16:52:29 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Webmistress Barbie on Sept 8, 2020 16:52:29 GMT -5 Singles Match! Standard Rules! 1 RP Limit 4000 Word Limit Please check your word count Via: www.wordcountertool.com/ Deadline: Sunday, September 13th, 2020 at 11:59pm Eastern Good Luck!
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Mitch 'The Broken' Heart
Chaos Wrestlers

Just A Miserable Bastard From Detroit

Posts: 55

Mitch Heart Vs. Sebastian Hawke Sept 10, 2020 23:44:06 GMT -5 mystifyingoracle likes this

Quote

Post by Mitch 'The Broken' Heart on Sept 10, 2020 23:44:06 GMT -5

kid stuff.

“Where are you going?”

Mitch Heart paused in his packing. This was all very last minute- he usually had time to prepare well in advance before he made the trek to Baltimore. His match vs. young Sebastian Hawke, however, had been booked on the spur of the moment. He’d have to leave fairly soon if he wanted to be there in time to get settled, get loose, and get in the right headspace.

It seemed, though, in his rush to get all his ducks in a row, he forgot to account for the penguin. Sighing, he turned. Penelope Heart (Penny or just Pen to most people who knew her) stood leaning in the doorway, a dented folding chair under one arm, the opposite hand running along the molding and picking at chips in the paint.

“I gotta head to Baltimore, kiddo. Some stuff happened and I got a match last minute.”

“Oh.”

Short nails painted with chipping purple glitter polish pulled away from the doorframe, tracing instead along the dents and dings in the chair and ever-lightly over the name scrawled with casual elegance on the seat with metallic purple Sharpie. Clutching to it with both arms, the girl finally looked at her brother straight on with large, saddened hazel eyes, biting a bit at her lower lip..

“Do you have to go?”

Striding over, the Detroit roughneck crouched down to his sister’s level, brow furrowing a bit as he reached out, placing a calloused, scarred up hand on her small, thin shoulder.

“I do. I make more money doing this in one night than I do a week’s worth of bouncer work. The more I do this, the more food I can put on the table, the easier I can get your medicine. You know I wouldn’t be leaving you so much if it wasn’t worth it in the end, right?”

Worn-in pink and purple sneakers shuffled, and Pen nodded, sniffling a bit.

“Yeah I know that and stuff, and I can take care’a myself okay, but... “

She sniffled again, eyes welling up despite her best efforts to keep a brave face. Her body tensed up, trembling slightly.

“...you got hurt so bad. You’ve been all headachey until a few days ago. When you got home all you did was throw up. And then you slept for like a whole day. I thought you were gonna die. I don’t want you to come home like that again all by yourself. I don’t wanna lose you, I don’t want you to leave me all alone…”

“Hey. Hey, shhh…”

Mitch’s hand left his sister’s shoulder only to allow him to wrap his arms around her, as best he could considering the folding chair she wouldn’t let go of. He kissed her forehead, and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, rough thumbs stroking away saline.

“You don’t need to worry. This match isn’t going to be a thing like the last one. It’s against a new guy who hasn’t even had a match yet. Heh, he doesn’t even look a lot older than you. There won’t be a cage or anything. More likely than not, I won’t get hurt, and if at all not nearly as bad as last show. Does that help?”

“A...a li-- a little.”

Gingerly, Pen set the chair down, clutching onto her older brother’s favorite Red Wings t-shirt, burying her face in the soft fabric. He rubbed her back, humming softly to her for a bit while she calmed down- a new song he’d started teaching himself on the guitar to play for her at night, one he’d heard on a show she liked.

If i could begin to be half of what you think of me, i could do about anything, i could even learn how to love / when i see the way you act, wondering when i’m coming back, i could do about anything, i could even learn how to love, like you…

“...hey, Pen.”

“Y-yeah?”

He pulled away, his hands gently cupping her shoulders, his smile gentle, his eyes, usually like sharp glass, seeming to melt into something far softer.

“Tell you what. Not next show, but the one after. It’s a big show for Carnage, the 100th episode of Chaos. Everybody’s gonna be there and... “

“...and?”

Pen quirked an eyebrow, running one arm across her face. Mitch chuckled softly.

“...and seeing as you’re an ‘everybody’ too, how would you like to come with me? I could show you around Baltimore. You could see Sil in person, and maybe you could meet some of the rest of the roster.”

The girl gasped inward, eyes growing to the size of small dinner plates.

“...Adrienne too?”

“Sure, I mean, you want to thank her for the autographed chair face to face, don’t you? Maybe tell her how you’ve been carrying it everywhere? Taking it to bed with you? I mean, Brrr is gonna get jealous…”

“Miiiiiitch!”

Her little fists beat at his chest playfully, her laughter like the chiming of silver bells. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t have to. He smiled, slowly, gingerly getting to his feet, not letting on the ache that lingered in his bones. He ruffled Pen’s long, shiny dark blonde hair- the color just like his- instead.

“So. We cool now, Penguin? You gonna be okay till I get back?”

She nodded, a faint redness to her eyes, slight congestion in her voice, and traces of dampness on her cheeks the only signs left that she’d been crying at all. Crisis averted and all, for the moment, seeming right with the world, Mitch turned and went back to his packing, pausing once more to glance over his shoulder.

“Hey, Pen.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mitch.”

There used to be more.

It was never super great, but Mitch could swear, tickling at the edges of his memory, there used to be more than this. He’d heard before that the population of Detroit now was about seven hundred thousand people. That sounded like a lot, but it wasn’t at all. It wasn’t even enough people to fill Michigan Stadium seven times. Detroit’s infrastructure was built for around two million.

That meant a lot of empty places. Places nobody went except the homeless, the dealers, and the occasional urban spelunker or person who needed to hide a body in a crumbling building where rich people used to live. A lot of Detroit had been empty for a long time, since things first started going bad, but Mitch thought that things were a little better, just a little, when he was a small child.

When he still thought the world was a big wonderful place. When he was the only child of a teen mother who was struggling, but trying her best, and nobody could question the fact that she loved her little boy.

The motorcycle idled by the playground. He remembered the blue slide- it was still as vivid as ever, though the yellow steps and handrails had gone pale over time. The structure had gone to rust and the grounds had gone to seed. There was little reason to use tax dollars to maintain parks that weren’t used in vacant neighborhoods no sane parent would bring their child to play in.

Dismounting, he walked his bike through the grass, parking it by the trees, and turned back to the play structure, fingers brushing against the smooth, azure surface of the slide as he walked to the furthest swing, sitting down.

Beside him, he could almost see the shadow of a woman, nineteen or twenty, sun in her hair, eyes clear, hands steady as she pushed her child further toward the sky, but always back to her arms again.

He inhaled, exhaled through his nose. There was no point in being nostalgic for something that was only going to go to shit, and thus be nothing but painful to think about. Better focus on now. The kid whose ass you’re going to beat in a few days’ time.

Heels digging into the mulch, Mitch pushed himself, slightly, back and forth. The rusted chains ground against rusted bolts.

Creak. Creak.

“Maybe I should thank the magnanimous Mr. St. James for looking after my health so well. I mean, that had to have been it, right? That’s the reason you take the Broken, the guy who fought the baddest man in the company to a draw, and stick him on the shelf for damn near a month. Cuz I can’t think of any other reason except you being a colossal dickbag.”

Creak. Creak.

“But my concussion was minor enough that I was good to go for this Chaos. You knew that. But lo and behold, I ain’t on the first draft of the card. The only way I can get my scrappy Detroit ass the fight I want is to call some blondie rook out on Twitter and publicly challenge him. Now I ain’t gonna say this is beneath me, after all, I asked for it. But I’ve seen social media. I’ve seen how many people are still talking about the Rat Cage and maybe, just maybe, I’d think you’d want to capitalize on that. But I guess you’re a cautious man. Or you’re a spiteful jackass because you know that I’m part of a movement that wants to upend your little ivory tower. But either way, here we are. Heart vs. Hawke.”

Creak. Creak.

Rusty chains creaked rhythmically against equally rusty supports. The thick slab of rubber that served as a seat was weak and riddled with cracks, and frankly, Mitch Heart was a bit surprised it was holding his weight. The grounds around him were overgrown, the grass knee high, the aged chain-link fences laced with vines. The mulch under his feet, once laid down to cushion the fall of children at play just in case, was rotted to splinters, plants growing up through it- nature in defiance of the progress of man.

“You know, it’s kind of ironic. My friends and I have certain goals. We see the lay of the land stagnating and in need of upheaval. We see age-old relics jumping at the chance for a title shot under paper-thin pretenses, and we reject them as the lies they are. We understand the need for radical change. We are radical change. We are just at the beginning of enacting the greatest revolution that Carnage has ever seen, and yet…”

He snickered, eyes sparking a bit beneath the shadow of his hood. His hands, one still marked on the back with the Ace of Hearts, tightened their grip on the swing’s chains.

“…out of the blue there seems to be a sudden influx of snot-nosed kids questioning our motives. Generally causing trouble for people, friends of mine included. Making challenges their asses can’t hope to make good on before they’ve even locked up once in this company. And, of course, jumping onto Twitter, being all-purpose jackasses, and crying persecution when they’re called out. Better people than me fell for this line and apologized, to no avail of course. Unfortunately? I’m not the better person. I don’t apologize, especially when I know I’m right.”

Legs clad in worn and frayed denim bent and straightened, moving the swing to and fro. Mitch looked up to the iron-colored sky, mouth curved into a frown.

“The likely attack on me and people I consider friends is that we don’t have any respect for younger people. That we’re somehow against forward-moving progress despite saying, quite loudly, that progress is our entire M.O. That by calling these newcomers ‘kids’ and the like, we’re insulting them. Now, I can’t speak for others, I’m not a mind-reader, but me? I don’t care how old you are. You act like the residents of a daycare and I’m going to refer to you as such.”

He shrugged, chuckling lightly to himself. He thought of Pen, who at eleven years of age showed a lot more temperance and maturity than this bird with all too easily ruffled feathers.

“Let’s talk brass tacks here, Hawke. Despite flapping around Twitter squawking at everyone who would listen, you didn’t flinch when some violent bastard from Detroit- that’d be me- challenged you to a fight. You even accepted my challenge like a man. For that, I tip my hat to you. I expected you to backtrack faster than a racecar in reverse and you didn’t. But.”

He held up a finger, and then pulled his hood back, staring fiercely into the camera.

“Don’t think that’s going to make me hold back. I took a look at your resume, and those backyard garbage outfits aren’t exactly for people who want to play it safe. You may just be tougher than you look. Hell, you may even hold your own for a while. I’ll be pretty disappointed if you can’t, matter of fact. But in all of this bravado you have, all this will to make good, to show everyone that you’re right and they’re wrong? You, I’m afraid, are overlooking something.”

Mitch’s mouth split into a toothy smile, though the expression was lacking anything close to warmth or friendliness. In fact, the smile was nothing short of vicious, the smile of a predator who smells fresh meat.

“I am like nothing you have ever faced in your entire life. Not even the most lawless, insane, bloody outlaw promotion can prepare you for the meatgrinder you are about to willingly stick your head into. See, I’ve fought in places like that myself. Joints where they tried to stand out by covering everything in barbed wire and having us beat the shit out of each other with fluorescent light tubes and slam each other into beds of broken glass.”

Looking up at the sky, Mitch sighed through his nose. He could see himself, just a teenager with a fast and loose relationship with the concept of honesty, a high school dropout lying about his age. Canvas stained with blood and sweat and puke and fuck knows what else, and some big hairy dickbag (to this day, Mitch couldn’t recall what he’d called himself) with breath like stale beer and fishsticks running at him.

There, in his very first match, on defense for the very first time, he’d done what came instinctively. He threw a left. He heard the crack of rotting teeth, a cavity-ridden molar flying from the chump’s mouth in a gob of blood and saliva. It seemed to hang in a disgusting wad in midair before splatting onto the canvas.

Before it had, Mitch had already dived for the nearest thing he could grab- a barbed-wire festooned wooden hockey stick. And in that moment, this slob nursing his bloody mouth and he at sixteen holding someone far more seasoned at his mercy, he’d never felt more in control of his own destiny. He wasn’t just some fatherless son of a crackwhore- he was someone. The cheer of the sparse crowd as he raised the stick above his head had told him that.

He wondered if Hawke’s debut had been as meaningful to him.

“Kid, something you really gotta know is that even the most armpit, wannabe hardcore operation is a cakewalk compared to the back streets of Detroit, where any motherfucker may literally try to kill you at any time. Where when you fight, the stakes are way higher than even the loftiest title. And maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think a pretty little wisp like you has ever been in a fight like that. If you’re lucky, you won’t ever have to be.”

Kicking off the fetid mulch-bed, Mitch swung higher. Bits of rust flaked off the chain. He could feel the rotten rubber tearing beneath him. He let go, sailing airborne for what seemed like a minute but was likely just a second, slamming down in a three point landing in front of the camera.

“Playtime’s over, junior. You’d better hope your chops are good enough to back up your mouth, and maybe you’d better think twice before running it again. You want to make enemies out of people? Sometimes that’s exactly what you wind up with. See you at Chaos. Good luck.”

He gave that apex predator’s grin one more time.

“You’ll need it.”

Black.

The Madness Menagerie
Chaos Wrestlers

"If you take away the voices we're just like YOU!"

Posts: 197

Mitch Heart Vs. Sebastian Hawke Sept 11, 2020 20:48:59 GMT -5

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Post by The Madness Menagerie on Sept 11, 2020 20:48:59 GMT -5

Just who was Sebastian Hawke?

The twenty two year old, cheeky kid from Las Vegas, Nevada could give you a few adjectives, but could he give you an answer? He’d be damned if he could think of one, and he’d die before he let you figure that out. He wasn’t necessarily one of the popular kids throughout his tenure at Rancho High School, an incredibly silly name for a school if you were to ask him. Sebastian was the kid that was never serious in any kind of situation. A prankster. Fun loving. Sure people LIKED him, but they didn’t necessarily enjoy his presence, only tolerated it. Learning to navigate the jungle that was pre-college was difficult at first and people really had a thing for abusing guys with an incredibly awesome and self maintained head of curly hair, often worn in a small fro.

Sue him. Sebastian’s day was always started right. Taking his hair out of the pony tail he has it in and watching his hair expand like the explosion of a star. POOF. It honestly helped him get through most of his days, alone and making people laugh. In all honesty, he just enjoyed the attention garnered by being an adorable smart ass with a fro and amazing dimples, so says every girl that peaked his interest only to tell him they weren’t interested. Outside of school, Sebastian’s life was pretty miserable up until he turned eighteen. His father, a strict Air Force, Airman First Class Eugene Hawke. If ever there was a man who was “by the book” it was Eugene. Rules were there for a reason and needed to be enforced with the harshest, strictest of punishments. Positive reinforcement was something that Sebastian never really knew or experienced growing up. His only real encouragement to get passing grades was knowing that several smacks with a leather belt would be in his immediate future for bringing home anything less than a B-. Seeing a rebellious streak start to develop, Sebastian’s parents quickly enrolled him in the martial arts, specifically Tai Chi in order to settle his ever growing rebellious spirit. Of course Sebastian would go on to flourish in the art, even branching out his understanding and became in his words, “an honored warrior and defender of the meek and helpless.”

True story.

In stories such as Sebastian’s, there is always one question that is asked when the issue of a strict and overbearing, military father comes into play; what about his mother? Susan Hawke was a simple woman, growing up to understand and take to heart that a woman’s place in the world was always by the side of her husband. He was busy working to maintain their living expenses and provide for his family, the very LEAST she could do is cook, clean, and raise a child when Eugene wasn’t around. The head of the Hawke household wasn’t subjected to constantly having to pick up his family and move them to various places. Granted, it took a while and Sebastian has vague recollection of living in a couple places before Eugene and Susan settled in Las Vegas. If memory serves, a sore point in the marriage of his parents was that Susan wasn’t able to keep Sebastian in the womb long enough to be born on American soil. If memory serves, Sebastian believes he was born in Japan, but the definitive truth has always been hidden from him. He had brought it up several times, starting off innocently and finally just asking about where he was born just to see the vein pop out on his father’s forehead while they were eating dinner. In typical Susan form, she puts her silverware down in this situation and sits silently as Eugene berates Sebastian for bringing the topic up, and then turns to Susan and says that if she were to… Do whatever it was Eugene believed could have been done to prevent Sebastian from coming out before they could reach the good ol’ US of A at the time; he would have an American born son. Future president. Something of VALUE. Of WORTH. Eugene would then gesture wildly to his only son and say, “Instead I have… This sorry excuse for my son.” Sebastian always thought his mother would at some point have enough and the cup runneth over from years of abuse and insults, but it never came. Susan would remain silent, take the abuse each time, at this point numb to the insults thrown in her direction. She never defended Sebastian and it always ended with Seb leaving the table and heading to his room while his father went to watch whatever boring adult stuff was on that night. Sometimes the news, sometimes some random “guy” sport. He never failed to say one last thing to his wife before getting himself a beer and sitting in HIS chair in a huff, “The meat was dry… Again.”

Sebastian would always watch these exchanges, half out of morbid curiosity and the other half the dread of watching your parents have a monstrous fight. His mother would gather herself up, take a few deep breaths, nod reassurance, and put her mask back on of the perfect housewife. With a fake smile that to this day gave Sebastian nightmares, she would gather the dishes up, clean them, and then clean the rest of the house to her husband’s exact specifications. Lord helped her if anything was wrong by the time the elder Hawke’s were ready for bed. To say the crucifix hanging above the mantle piece has seen its fair share of violence since the crucifixion itself. There were times that Sebastian thought that he would stand up to his father, eye to eye, nose to nose, ready to defend against his father’s considerable strength. It never happened though and in a way, Sebastian convinced himself he was just as cowardly as his mother. So what is a boy in Sebastian’s position to do? Cower in fear and dream of the day when he can make it out on his own; away from the toxic environment that he has called home most of his life?

No.

There were times that Sebastian would have loved to quit. Laid down, exhausted and puttering because he was tired of all of it. “Quit” wasn’t something that Sebatian EVER wanted to be known for, but he KNEW that if he were to survive, he’d have to find a life outside of his house. Avoid his home life for as long as possible…

High school came and went, Sebastian an accomplished martial artist by his dojo’s standards but desiring to prove to himself as anything but a “coward.” An old saying says, “When most in need, the way will reveal itself.” Or at least, that’s what Sebastian believed when he saw that the local backyard wrestling organization was looking for new talent. Freshly turned eighteen, Sebastian was quick to sign up and essentially had his proverbial ass handed to him on a weekly basis. He soaked in the abuse believing that it would only make him tougher and at some point, he’d be able to get past the “coward” stigma he cast upon himself. In one particular match where Sebastian was supposed to lay down for the veteran champion, Sebastian reacted out of instinct and delivered a superkick right underneath the champ’s chin, knocking him out. Unsure what to do, Sebastian climbed up to the top rope, and did his best impression of a frog splash on top of him. The champ still hadn’t moved and so the only thing left to do was pin the man. Sebastian went on record of being the youngest champion and eventually honed his craft to become the longest reigning. Of course he lost the belt a few times at first, but he always came back and he always did so with a force that took his opponents by storm. At that point Sebastian didn’t believe that luck or fate had anything to do with his success, it was that he went after and pursued everything he had set out to accomplish. It was no surprise then when a scout for Carnage Wrestling showed up and gave him the paper work with a preliminary copy of the contract. Excited, Sebastian runs home, excited to start making plans to run away. Lost in the pool of possibility, Sebastian never noticed his father’s car in the driveway, conspicuously early for a week day.

Sebastian finds his way to the stairs, taking his shoes off out of habit as he looks at his paperwork, and putting them where they go. He takes a step onto the proverbial creaky bottom stair, and suddenly he hears Eugene’s voice.

“Sebastian. I know that’s you. Get in here.”

“Here” only meant his dad’s lounge. A place for “man” talks with whiskey. With little choice, Sebastian walks to the door and knocks. Heaven forbid he enter without.

“Proceed.”

His dad’s voice told Sebastian that he was angry. VERY angry. As he pulls the door open, Sebastian can see his dad already has the belt in hand. Rolling his eyes, Sebastian takes the seat across from his father’s desk as Eugene comes to meet him. Before he can do anything about it, Sebastian’s father takes his paperwork from Carnage and tosses them into the nearby fireplace.

“Do you know what Greg showed me today?”

Eugene’s voice was quiet and the fact he was talking about Greg was a clear indicator that whatever news he had, it wasn’t good for Sebastian. Greg was a man that worked with Eugene. A portly man that always smelled like nachos and cheap beer, Greg always hung around Eugene, and the senior Hawke despised him for it. Anything Greg was involved in, was considered an automatic sin against everything Eugene stood for.

“N...No sir. However, I’d like to inquire about why you just destroyed MY...

Sebastian is cut off by his father’s face glowing red with anger. Stuff was about to go down and none of it was good for Sebastian. Eugene takes a crumpled piece of paper from his desk and thrusts it at Sebastian so he can see what’s on it.

The advertisement for Sebastian’s previous title defense, a show at least a week ago. Sebastian’s eyes grow wide as the color drains from his cheeks.

“Fu…”

Eugene is quick for his age and backhands Sebastian across the face.

“Watch your fucking mouth you disgrace of a son. What in the HELL do you think you’re doing?! Throwing away every single gift that your mother and I…

Sebastian scoffs as he rubs the place his father had slapped, a red print under Sebastian’s. Caring not to notice, Eugene continues to roar at his son.

“We put you through school. We gave you a roof over your head and food to eat. Education, martial arts training, and this, THIS is how you repay us?!”

Eugene thrusts the paper in front of Sebastian again, the youngest Hawke finally having enough and standing up to meet his father. He doesn’t get far as he is backhanded again. As Sebastian recovers, Eugene raises the hand with the belt and brings it down to strike his son across the face. They don’t call it tough love for nothing…

The resounding CRACK of the leather meeting skin never happens though as Sebastian grabs his father by the wrist, using his other hand to take the belt for his own. Sebastian’s face is hard, his gaze impenetrable as he confronts his father.

“You’ve given me nothing but a toxic home and a hatred for you. Years, “dad” I watched you abuse me and mom; hoping she’d stand up for herself, for ME. But you beat that will to protect, her motherly instinct out of her didn’t you?”

Eugene tries to strike Sebastian, but his son is too quick, Seb ducking under and shoving his father away at the same time. Eugene tries to rush Sebastian, getting close before…

CRACK!

Eugene flies to the side as Sebastian drops the belt he just hit his father across the face with. Something about tough love, right? Susan runs in, looking between her husband, trying to recover on the floor, a significant welt and bruise making its way onto his cheek. Sebastian walks past his mom and goes up to his room, throwing some clothes into a bag and grabbing the savings he made from his days as a small time backyard wrestling champion. Taking the stairs three at a time, Sebastian gets back downstairs and passes by the hall, stopping to look in the lounge, his mother trying to talk to his father. Eugene glares at Sebastian and only gets angrier as he is only met with the reflective glare of a pair of sand goggles Seb customized to his liking.

“Get out of my house. You’re no longer my son.”

Sebastian considers his father’s words for a moment before responding in kind.

“Don’t worry, you were NEVER my father. Mom, if you ever decide to stand up for yourself, look me up. I’ll be in Baltimore.”

With that Sebastian Hawke storms out of his nest, ready to fly to new heights, or more specifically, to Baltimore.

When a person goes to an airfield, they are often met with a myriad of sights and sounds. The rumble of the jets as they take off. The screeching of rubber tires on pavement as they touch down. Almost like magic these crafts are lifted into the air, almost as if on strings. Where science seeks to put this into comprehension, Sebastian Hawke can’t help but watch at how entranced he gets by something so simplistic. Realizing that the Carnage promo express was knocking at his door, he snaps out of his reverie and with a smile faces the camera, his curly hair tied back and his blue goggles on.

Sebastian Hawke: Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls, children of all ages. It is with great pride and pleasure that I get to introduce you to Sebastian Hawke, one of the newest talent acquisitions under Carnage Wrestling.

He mocks a crowd’s applause and runs in a circle, cheering for himself. After a couple rounds, he settles and once again address The Legion at large.

Sebastian Hawke: Rest assured, I’m not like your run of the mill arrogant newcomer that likes to ride on the coattails of a past career. I’m not about looking into the past and dwelling over what was. I’m more about looking ahead and seeing the future, what has yet to be and be experienced. I want to soar to new heights and experience new things, forge my own path and accomplish… My own goals. I am Sebastian Hawke and I’m here to say that there is no going back, there is no trying to relive what once was in order to feel that nostalgic feeling that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.

He pauses and scratches at his bald chin.

Sebastian Hawke: I know. This is all stuff that you’ve heard before. The speeches where the person in the spotlight at that particular moment gets up and tells you how great they are, better than you in every way, and don’t forget the best looking person in the room. Sometimes, they prove each and every one of those points to be true, but most times?

Sebastian shrugs his shoulders, a coy smile playing across his face.

Sebastian Hawke: Carnage, I am different from everyone that came before me because I’m not going to waste my time in TELLING you how great I am, I’m going to show each and every one of you. The world, the future is calling to me, can you hear it?

The sound of a jet flying low overhead and coming down onto the tarmac overtakes the senses. Sebastian waits for the noise to subside before he keeps going.

Sebastian Hawke: Ok, so I didn’t actually plan that to happen, but it worked out great didn’t it? You might be watching this promo and be thinking to yourself, “Gee Sebastian, not only are you unknown, but you pick AWFUL places for your promos! You are NOT off to a good start.” To this, I respond with, open your eyes you ignorant mook. Planes leave and take off to and from point A to point B on a regular basis. They soar to heights that are unreached by any other piece of technology “man” yields and it’s almost a magical sight to watch them fly. Granted, there is science behind it all, but if you look past the technical stuff, it’s a magical experience to behold. Obviously, planes only go so high and that Carnage Legion, if you’ve been paying attention, is where the comparison ends with yours truly.

That knowing smile comes back on Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian Hawke: I don’t plan on stopping once I reach those new heights. There is no glass ceiling with me Carnage and I’m out to prove that with every step I take and every impact that is felt when I’m in the room. With that said, I guess that brings us to my not so quiet start here in Carnage and on the evil social media giant known as Twitter.

Sebastian sighs, his confidence faltering ever so slightly before that smile comes back again.

Sebastian Hawke: That’s… Not how I quite envisioned things. It seems that I signed onto the roster at a time where things were… Well, much like 2020 has been it was like Switzerland coming in between the Allies and Axis powers and saying, “Hey! Give me both of your viewpoints so I can make an informed decision.” Opinions were formed, I voiced them, and they weren’t the most popular and in turn, that made ME not that popular in the face of everyone reading from home. I get that and I own up to it. However, it garnered me the attentions of one Mitch “The Broken” Heart.

Sebastian chuckles to himself.

Sebastian Hawke: Mitchell didn’t immediately jump down my throat upon voicing my opinion. He told me he didn’t like it and challenged me to a match, for what I assume is to defend someone’s slighted honor. I understand that, I get it. I’m sure that there was a part of Mitch, deep down and buried under that rough and tough exterior, that was kind of thinking that I was going to back down from his challenge.

Another plane soars overhead and Sebastian’s gaze is drawn to it, watching it as it disappears into the sky.

Sebastian Hawke: I know this is my first match and no one has even heard of my name outside of nature documentaries. Even then, the documentary isn’t even about me, it’s about some dumb bird.

He raises his goggles and winks at the camera, his crystal blue eyes piercing in the sunlight before he returns his eyewear to their original spot.

Sebastian Hawke: Here’s something that might be unexpected for some of you: I actually gained a modicum of respect for Mitchell after he challenged me. He didn’t sit behind his screen and ask me pointless questions, like who I am. No. He called me out for my bullshit and seeks to teach this cheeky, young upstart a lesson. Me? I’m just happy that I’m getting my feet wet against someone more than a member of the local job squad. Mitchell’s career in Carnage thus far has been one, from what I’ve gleaned, soaked in blood, accented by violence, and out of three, hard fought matches, has the most equal record of anyone on the roster. One, one, and… One.

He pauses. Something tugging on the outside of his consciousness. He smirks, figuring it all out.

Sebastian Hawke: That one draw has to tug on that deep and dark place doesn’t it Mitchell? There’s nothing inherently WRONG with it, but it isn’t a definitive mark on your record. It’s not a win. It’s not a lose. It’s just a spot. I know I'd be upset if there was a match I had with no definitive WINNER. You went to war that night, I paid to watch that at home, and it was an amazing battle between two monsters among men. Any other person put in my boots would be shaking like a leaf in the wind. Or at least SHOULD be.

Sebastian shrugs, a relaxed gesture that shows he doesn’t have a care in the world presently.

Sebastian Hawke: I’m not like the others. I’m not the run of the mill rookie that signed onto the roster, looking for a title shot on night one and only looking to fight against people worse than me. I’m looking to fight against my betters Mitchell. I’m fully aware that I’m going to take everything that you might in store for me. I’m well aware that after a few of those bombs you’re planning on launching, I might not even make it back up to my feet, and you MIGHT even be declared the victor in our match. The man who stood toe to toe with a monster in a hellacious match, fought to a draw. You’re looking to make a new mark now Mitch and I see that fire in your eyes, hell, I can feel it radiating from here. Given all of that, each and every single doubt that the Carnage roster has that I will not only stand my ground when we are face to face, but I will come out the other side victorious… A lesser man might turn tail and run. That’s the thing about hawks. They don’t have to run. They fly to new heights on a regular basis. They persevere and they live to fight the next day. Hawks are some of the most vicious and tenacious of all birds and Mitchell… You just stepped into my nest. You really think you have what it takes to stop my meteoric rise before it even begins? Do you BELIEVE in that deep down hidey hole of a “broken heart” that you have what it takes to stomp out my flame?

Another shrug from Sebastian as he settles down and another plane comes in for a landing. Again, Sebastian turns to watch before addressing the camera.

Sebastian Hawke: I don’t think that you do Mitchell. At the end of our match, regardless of the victor, I promise you that you will know my name. You will shout my praises and you will regret trying to stomp out whatever fire you see in my eyes. Because to be honest? All you did was stoke it into an inferno that pushes me to soar to those new heights, places that people who believe in limits, who look down at people who have just as much fire as I do, will never, EVER reach. When I look at you in the ring Mitch, I’m not going to be looking at the man that challenged me, one of the most ruthless men Carnage has to offer. I’m going to be looking down from my perch. I’m going to look you in the eyes as my prey, and I’m going to do everything within MY power to prove to you, to the roster, and to the world that Sebastian Hawke isn’t just here to stay. He’s here to show you the places you never thought would be attainable. I look forward to showing you all what I have and Mitchell? Don’t take it personally when I put you down and hand you your second loss since joining the Carnage roster. Now… Who is ready to take off?

Another plane takes off behind Sebastian, the young man watching it before turning back to the camera and pulling his goggles up, shooting finger guns as the scene fades to black.

Act of Defiance 2021

Mitch Heart Vs. Sebastian Hawke

Post by Webmistress Barbie on Sept 8, 2020 16:52:29 GMT -5

Post by Mitch 'The Broken' Heart on Sept 10, 2020 23:44:06 GMT -5

Post by The Madness Menagerie on Sept 11, 2020 20:48:59 GMT -5