Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Oct 23, 2017 19:36:12 GMT -5
Saturday 21st October 2017 - 6:37pm
Residence of Horacio Mortimer, Totton, Southampton, United Kingdom
A murmuration of starlings weave ghoulishly through the air, the cluster so tight that it looks like an avian will-o-the-wisp haunts the evening sky. Along the narrow pavements running parallel with the rural village road, people stop and stare in awe of the spectacle taking place high above their heads.
Mingling amidst the small businesses that line the street stands a Georgian building that has seen modernisation surround it over several years. The bookmakers that had recently adjoined the
14th Century home sticks out like a sore thumb. What had once been rolling fields in front of the local train tracks behind the venue had now been concreted over to allow a large supermarket to dominate the view from the rear windows of the property.
Horacio takes the opportunity to stare out of the living room window. In spite of the glorious sunshine beaming through the glass panes, an ominously thick black cloud is rolling in from the valleys, threatening the sunshine with prospect of torrential rain. He clasps his hands together behind his back as he watches autumnal leaves cling to their branches for dear life in the ever increasing winds. His admiration soon turns to loathing as he begins to stare at the tens of people walking along the pavements directly outside the house.
“Corruption is as commonplace in modern society as the simple art of breathing. Everywhere you look, there are men and women craving power as if it is a drug that is rightfully theirs to abuse,” he sneers, visibly distressed by his own perception. Dominic stands in silence, his flesh still displaying faint signs of weeks of anguish. From the fatigue in his eyes to the battle scars carved into his skin, he looks weary, yet somehow undeterred. “Those fools will soon be subjected to the punishment they deserve,” Mortimer utters with a glimmer of malice. “But for now, we focus on the matter at hand.”
“Yes,” Dominic nods obediently. Mortimer rolls his eyes back in his protégé’s direction, unimpressed by the monotonous tones that Dominic had spoken with.
“If you had only taken the time to rationalise your logic, you would already be the Underground King,” Mortimer says calmly, although agitation is certainly present in his voice. “If you had conserved your efforts against Alexa Black, High Tide would not have won by default through her forfeit. If you had simply put Crazy Boy away as you had done time and time again, we would not be in this sudden death situation.”
“Now you listen here,” Dominator snarls, the insinuation of ineptitude being offensive to him. “I did not LOSE to Crazy Boy…”
“But you didn’t win either,” Mortimer immediately retorts, glancing over his shoulder to the angered expression on Dominic’s face as a mirror opposite to the defiantly smug one publicized on his own. Mortimer allows a moment of silence to pass to allow Dominic to reflect on this statement. He notices Dominic‘s head start to hang, before nodding in acceptance of the fact. “However,” he turns back to look through the window once more, “time is considerate and generous in its abundance. You still have the opportunity to rectify your mistakes.” He can almost feel Dominic’s resurrected smile through vibrations in the air. “After all, perfection cannot be achieved immediately. There is nothing quite as difficult for man as waiting for time. For one’s fifteen minutes of fame. It always seems that the time has come, right now, this minute, and, if you do not take it, then you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
Dominic simply stands as motionless and silent as he had been for all this time. Deadly Intentions was supposed to be the night. HIS night. But with all of the distractions being provided by the intrusive love triangle between himself, his best friend Shawn and both their lovers, Amy, combined with the custodial war over baby Dawn, it had blinded Dominator from what was directly in front of him. He had tried to rectify the matter before the event, but it had been to no avail…
…now, it was time to do things Mortimer’s way. He knew that. They both did.
“Time is a highly valued commodity,” Mortimer continues his rant as if drilling a point home, a form of brainwashing at its finest, “time is money, it is guarded like a jewel, man looks up to time as, in time, time devours all things. And, if this is true, then time is master of the entire world. For those who do not have time, and for those for whom time is not on their side, either way, they hold a rather bleak future. The poor man; his time is up. No wonder then that we say there is a time and place for all things. Time is indefatigable. Despite its age, it always strides at the same pace; like human fate, it reminds us of our rancour, it gnaws at insignificant human filth, and, at times, strange, dark times come to us all. This usually occurs when too much evil has been accumulated in the world in which we live, so that plain human goodness endures for less than a lifetime. Sorrow is greater than any joy, and man becomes possessed by some kind of madness. It is then that time waits for no man. It is the judge and the jury. And those who remain as witnesses to bygone times continue to warn all those yet to come for a long time to come. In the beginning, their voices are strong, and then later they fall quiet, until finally it does not seem to matter anymore. But it does matter, as man constantly makes the same mistake; he destroys that which has been created over the course of history.”
After another few moments of reflection, Dominator steps to Horacio’s side, staring out of the window and mirroring his posture. The skies have darkened considerably. It feels like hours have passed since Horacio started to monologue, yet a brief glance of his wristwatch reveals that it has only ten minutes have passed since their conversation, as one sided it may have been, had begun.
That was about to change.
“Time has its own aroma; it is a part of us all, our beautiful moments and those other moments, difficult moments, which we then spend a lifetime trying to forget, but to no avail,” Dominator says assertively. He could not figure out where this sudden wave of insight had emerged from. The surprised, yet impressed look on Horacio’s face tells the whole story. Dominic quickly turns around and moves away, not wanting to make eye contact with his mentor at this stage. “No one knows what time has in store for them. It deals out to each man what he deserves. And we can rage as much as we want, we can think up thousands of reasons that should have influenced our fate otherwise, we can scream and curse in pain at the world, but, in the final analysis, time will inexorably rule in its own favour.”
“So what does that mean then?” Mortimer prompts, hoping to get the answer he so desperately craves, as if watching a child ride a bike without stabilisers for the first time.
“It means it is up to us to make every second count,” Dominic states resolutely, compressing a clenched fist into an even firmer ball with his other hand. Mortimer pivots on his heel and smiles as the rain begins to lash against the window pane. The starlings have disappeared. So too have the people that once littered the streets. They had all sought sanctuary from the oncoming storm. Dominic’s realisation is like music to Mortimer’s ears, a rumble of thunder acting as the bassline in this symphony.
“Now you understand,” Horacio grins for the very first time with the purest of conviction. “It is time for you to claim your rightful place on the throne and sink the hopes and dreams of those who defy The Chronological Order.”
Residence of Horacio Mortimer, Totton, Southampton, United Kingdom
A murmuration of starlings weave ghoulishly through the air, the cluster so tight that it looks like an avian will-o-the-wisp haunts the evening sky. Along the narrow pavements running parallel with the rural village road, people stop and stare in awe of the spectacle taking place high above their heads.
Mingling amidst the small businesses that line the street stands a Georgian building that has seen modernisation surround it over several years. The bookmakers that had recently adjoined the
14th Century home sticks out like a sore thumb. What had once been rolling fields in front of the local train tracks behind the venue had now been concreted over to allow a large supermarket to dominate the view from the rear windows of the property.
Horacio takes the opportunity to stare out of the living room window. In spite of the glorious sunshine beaming through the glass panes, an ominously thick black cloud is rolling in from the valleys, threatening the sunshine with prospect of torrential rain. He clasps his hands together behind his back as he watches autumnal leaves cling to their branches for dear life in the ever increasing winds. His admiration soon turns to loathing as he begins to stare at the tens of people walking along the pavements directly outside the house.
“Corruption is as commonplace in modern society as the simple art of breathing. Everywhere you look, there are men and women craving power as if it is a drug that is rightfully theirs to abuse,” he sneers, visibly distressed by his own perception. Dominic stands in silence, his flesh still displaying faint signs of weeks of anguish. From the fatigue in his eyes to the battle scars carved into his skin, he looks weary, yet somehow undeterred. “Those fools will soon be subjected to the punishment they deserve,” Mortimer utters with a glimmer of malice. “But for now, we focus on the matter at hand.”
“Yes,” Dominic nods obediently. Mortimer rolls his eyes back in his protégé’s direction, unimpressed by the monotonous tones that Dominic had spoken with.
“If you had only taken the time to rationalise your logic, you would already be the Underground King,” Mortimer says calmly, although agitation is certainly present in his voice. “If you had conserved your efforts against Alexa Black, High Tide would not have won by default through her forfeit. If you had simply put Crazy Boy away as you had done time and time again, we would not be in this sudden death situation.”
“Now you listen here,” Dominator snarls, the insinuation of ineptitude being offensive to him. “I did not LOSE to Crazy Boy…”
“But you didn’t win either,” Mortimer immediately retorts, glancing over his shoulder to the angered expression on Dominic’s face as a mirror opposite to the defiantly smug one publicized on his own. Mortimer allows a moment of silence to pass to allow Dominic to reflect on this statement. He notices Dominic‘s head start to hang, before nodding in acceptance of the fact. “However,” he turns back to look through the window once more, “time is considerate and generous in its abundance. You still have the opportunity to rectify your mistakes.” He can almost feel Dominic’s resurrected smile through vibrations in the air. “After all, perfection cannot be achieved immediately. There is nothing quite as difficult for man as waiting for time. For one’s fifteen minutes of fame. It always seems that the time has come, right now, this minute, and, if you do not take it, then you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
Dominic simply stands as motionless and silent as he had been for all this time. Deadly Intentions was supposed to be the night. HIS night. But with all of the distractions being provided by the intrusive love triangle between himself, his best friend Shawn and both their lovers, Amy, combined with the custodial war over baby Dawn, it had blinded Dominator from what was directly in front of him. He had tried to rectify the matter before the event, but it had been to no avail…
…now, it was time to do things Mortimer’s way. He knew that. They both did.
“Time is a highly valued commodity,” Mortimer continues his rant as if drilling a point home, a form of brainwashing at its finest, “time is money, it is guarded like a jewel, man looks up to time as, in time, time devours all things. And, if this is true, then time is master of the entire world. For those who do not have time, and for those for whom time is not on their side, either way, they hold a rather bleak future. The poor man; his time is up. No wonder then that we say there is a time and place for all things. Time is indefatigable. Despite its age, it always strides at the same pace; like human fate, it reminds us of our rancour, it gnaws at insignificant human filth, and, at times, strange, dark times come to us all. This usually occurs when too much evil has been accumulated in the world in which we live, so that plain human goodness endures for less than a lifetime. Sorrow is greater than any joy, and man becomes possessed by some kind of madness. It is then that time waits for no man. It is the judge and the jury. And those who remain as witnesses to bygone times continue to warn all those yet to come for a long time to come. In the beginning, their voices are strong, and then later they fall quiet, until finally it does not seem to matter anymore. But it does matter, as man constantly makes the same mistake; he destroys that which has been created over the course of history.”
After another few moments of reflection, Dominator steps to Horacio’s side, staring out of the window and mirroring his posture. The skies have darkened considerably. It feels like hours have passed since Horacio started to monologue, yet a brief glance of his wristwatch reveals that it has only ten minutes have passed since their conversation, as one sided it may have been, had begun.
That was about to change.
“Time has its own aroma; it is a part of us all, our beautiful moments and those other moments, difficult moments, which we then spend a lifetime trying to forget, but to no avail,” Dominator says assertively. He could not figure out where this sudden wave of insight had emerged from. The surprised, yet impressed look on Horacio’s face tells the whole story. Dominic quickly turns around and moves away, not wanting to make eye contact with his mentor at this stage. “No one knows what time has in store for them. It deals out to each man what he deserves. And we can rage as much as we want, we can think up thousands of reasons that should have influenced our fate otherwise, we can scream and curse in pain at the world, but, in the final analysis, time will inexorably rule in its own favour.”
“So what does that mean then?” Mortimer prompts, hoping to get the answer he so desperately craves, as if watching a child ride a bike without stabilisers for the first time.
“It means it is up to us to make every second count,” Dominic states resolutely, compressing a clenched fist into an even firmer ball with his other hand. Mortimer pivots on his heel and smiles as the rain begins to lash against the window pane. The starlings have disappeared. So too have the people that once littered the streets. They had all sought sanctuary from the oncoming storm. Dominic’s realisation is like music to Mortimer’s ears, a rumble of thunder acting as the bassline in this symphony.
“Now you understand,” Horacio grins for the very first time with the purest of conviction. “It is time for you to claim your rightful place on the throne and sink the hopes and dreams of those who defy The Chronological Order.”
