Post by Tempestad on Jul 10, 2010 0:46:38 GMT -6
“You two just cannot grasp what I say...”
We fade into Tempestad sitting atop one of the bell towers of St. Cecilia's Cathedral in Omaha. The night surrounds him, his mask standing out as a barely illuminated smattering of white in the field of black...or a beacon of hope in the darkness. The Xtreme Title is around his waist this time, shining in the light from the lamps below. He looks over to the cross carved sticking out of the roof. Tempestad sighs, realizing that his faith, though unwavering, is not something that he can ever convince either of his opponents he truly retains. Tempestad moves into a kneeling position, surveying the city stretching before him.
“Sephiroth..YES. Yes, it kills me that I have lost my sister. It kills me to know that of all the people on God's Earth, it had to be YOU she fell in love with. Why you? Why did it have to be a man I know to be a monster? You want my honest opinion, dear brother-in-law? Do you?”
He glares out into the night, clenching his hand around a section of the stone church. Tempestad bows his head, grimacing as he feels his fingers protest against the rough, hardened granite.
“I HATE you. I hate your lies, I hate your desperate appeals to some sort of pseudo-gothic so-called “tortured nobility.” You try to romanticize what you are, you keep trying to make excuses. It is SICK and twisted. I think that those comparing you to works like those of Anne Rice are not that far off...you angst over losing people? Over the other three wives you have gone through? Then NEVER MAKE CONNECTIONS! Does it occur to you that I have to live with this, Sephiroth?"
Temp's fingers slip from the stone due to his near-crushing grip on the building. He remains balanced nevertheless, but his heart jumps into his throat. He presses on, undeterred by this near-accident.
“Did it honestly not occur to you in all of your self-righteous preening and attempts to make yourself the hero of this story that I have been trying to prevent this not because I do not believe Maria is responsible enough to be her own woman, but because I DO NOT WANT TO LOSE HER? Yes. I failed. I failed to protect her. WE failed to protect her, hijo de puta. But I will not fail again. The look on her face as she watched you...she was happy. It saddens me that I will have to shatter that happiness...but shatter it I will. Maria, te amo. Le amaré siempre. Estancia fuerte. Y por favor, no me odie. Hago esto… que hago esto para amor. Para familia. Para sangre. Estancia fuerte...nunca pierda esperanza.”
He pulls out his crucifix, looking at it thoughtfully. He looks at the slight bit of reflection and is amazed to see that what bits of his face are visible look...older. More weather-worn. He sighs, sitting back.
“Only twenty-six years old and I already feel like a man of forty...you take the youth out of me, Sephiroth. You take my enthusiasm, my faith in the business. My faith in humanity...but you will never take my faith in the Lord. I know that He will never waver, no matter what horrors I see...so I must not waver. I have to soldier on...even if I think I can do no good, I must continue to fight. For all it takes for evil to triumph...is for good to do nothing. I WILL NOT do nothing. I CANNOT do nothing. I will keep on fighting, until the last drop of my blood leaves me, because I will not stand by and let evil win. NEVER.”
Tempestad stands, lowering himself down and edging around to the side of the tower facing the roof. He takes a breath and jumps down, crouching and rolling to minimize the impact. Temp gets up on his feet, climbing to the peak of the roof, and stands behind the cross. The light catches him full glare now, and his attire is lit up to reveal that he has had a large cross sewn across his heart. The image of the Virgin on his right arm is lit as well, and he closes his eyes, bathing in the light.
“Gabriel Karras. You call me a false prophet? I speak nothing of false gods. I speak only of my love for the Lord Christ, our Savior, and His father, Almighty God. You preach a gospel of hate and violent retribution for sinners. Christ spoke of love and redemption. I have turned the other cheek many times to your transgressions, Gabriel. But you can wear the guise of a holy man no longer. I know you for what you are, and you are just as sick and sadistic as Sephiroth. You are a demon in a human skin...and you have deceived others.”
He shudders, murmuring a short prayer for the two women who Gabriel so frequently features in his videos, Desiree and Amanda. Temp remembers the vile, hateful words that Gabriel spat at him the last time he spoke, and anger bubbles back to the surface.
“And you accuse ME of being the charlatan, the turncoat, and an incompetent? Yes, I failed. I failed, I failed, I failed. There. Are you happy? Do you finally get some pleasure from hearing me admit my mistake? I hope so...Gabriel, you act like you have no desire for the belt. You pretend that all it is is a trinket for idolators and the unfaithful. But you once were Xtreme Champion. You held this title, and I know you hunger to win it once more. Now, I am NOT your friend. I once was...you were once good...or so I thought. It seems that the darkest evils dwell within the hearts of men. You are a demented excuse for a preacher, and the lies that flow from you so effortlessly will do nothing to stem the tide of my rage. I do not claim that what I will do is holy. It is base and, in another context, might be considered reprehensible. But such are the circumstances.”
He turns, walking away from the light towards the darkness at the back of the church. As he walks, the details on his attire fade slowly into indistinct shadows, until all we have left is the glint of his visor and his title belt. He stands on the other edge of the roof, turning around to look at the point he came from. The camera focuses on the silhouette of the cross before returning to Tempestad. He smirks ruefully, realizing how melodramatic and foolish this must look.
“Both of you are convinced that you know what is right...you are convinced that you are in the right, and that the other two men in this match are incompetent at best and corrupt sinners at worst. I am no exception. I KNOW that you are both wrong...I know that you are one wicked man and one man blinded by passion. Which is which I do not know. I will let you two make that choice. In the meantime...I have some business to attend to. I will see you on Sunday...and may God have mercy on both of you.”
Tempestad takes a step forward before backflipping off the roof and out of sight. The camera goes to the edge, looking down to reveal Temp hanging by his fingers from the edge of the roof. He looks up annoyedly at the camera as we fade to black.
We fade into Tempestad sitting atop one of the bell towers of St. Cecilia's Cathedral in Omaha. The night surrounds him, his mask standing out as a barely illuminated smattering of white in the field of black...or a beacon of hope in the darkness. The Xtreme Title is around his waist this time, shining in the light from the lamps below. He looks over to the cross carved sticking out of the roof. Tempestad sighs, realizing that his faith, though unwavering, is not something that he can ever convince either of his opponents he truly retains. Tempestad moves into a kneeling position, surveying the city stretching before him.
“Sephiroth..YES. Yes, it kills me that I have lost my sister. It kills me to know that of all the people on God's Earth, it had to be YOU she fell in love with. Why you? Why did it have to be a man I know to be a monster? You want my honest opinion, dear brother-in-law? Do you?”
He glares out into the night, clenching his hand around a section of the stone church. Tempestad bows his head, grimacing as he feels his fingers protest against the rough, hardened granite.
“I HATE you. I hate your lies, I hate your desperate appeals to some sort of pseudo-gothic so-called “tortured nobility.” You try to romanticize what you are, you keep trying to make excuses. It is SICK and twisted. I think that those comparing you to works like those of Anne Rice are not that far off...you angst over losing people? Over the other three wives you have gone through? Then NEVER MAKE CONNECTIONS! Does it occur to you that I have to live with this, Sephiroth?"
Temp's fingers slip from the stone due to his near-crushing grip on the building. He remains balanced nevertheless, but his heart jumps into his throat. He presses on, undeterred by this near-accident.
“Did it honestly not occur to you in all of your self-righteous preening and attempts to make yourself the hero of this story that I have been trying to prevent this not because I do not believe Maria is responsible enough to be her own woman, but because I DO NOT WANT TO LOSE HER? Yes. I failed. I failed to protect her. WE failed to protect her, hijo de puta. But I will not fail again. The look on her face as she watched you...she was happy. It saddens me that I will have to shatter that happiness...but shatter it I will. Maria, te amo. Le amaré siempre. Estancia fuerte. Y por favor, no me odie. Hago esto… que hago esto para amor. Para familia. Para sangre. Estancia fuerte...nunca pierda esperanza.”
He pulls out his crucifix, looking at it thoughtfully. He looks at the slight bit of reflection and is amazed to see that what bits of his face are visible look...older. More weather-worn. He sighs, sitting back.
“Only twenty-six years old and I already feel like a man of forty...you take the youth out of me, Sephiroth. You take my enthusiasm, my faith in the business. My faith in humanity...but you will never take my faith in the Lord. I know that He will never waver, no matter what horrors I see...so I must not waver. I have to soldier on...even if I think I can do no good, I must continue to fight. For all it takes for evil to triumph...is for good to do nothing. I WILL NOT do nothing. I CANNOT do nothing. I will keep on fighting, until the last drop of my blood leaves me, because I will not stand by and let evil win. NEVER.”
Tempestad stands, lowering himself down and edging around to the side of the tower facing the roof. He takes a breath and jumps down, crouching and rolling to minimize the impact. Temp gets up on his feet, climbing to the peak of the roof, and stands behind the cross. The light catches him full glare now, and his attire is lit up to reveal that he has had a large cross sewn across his heart. The image of the Virgin on his right arm is lit as well, and he closes his eyes, bathing in the light.
“Gabriel Karras. You call me a false prophet? I speak nothing of false gods. I speak only of my love for the Lord Christ, our Savior, and His father, Almighty God. You preach a gospel of hate and violent retribution for sinners. Christ spoke of love and redemption. I have turned the other cheek many times to your transgressions, Gabriel. But you can wear the guise of a holy man no longer. I know you for what you are, and you are just as sick and sadistic as Sephiroth. You are a demon in a human skin...and you have deceived others.”
He shudders, murmuring a short prayer for the two women who Gabriel so frequently features in his videos, Desiree and Amanda. Temp remembers the vile, hateful words that Gabriel spat at him the last time he spoke, and anger bubbles back to the surface.
“And you accuse ME of being the charlatan, the turncoat, and an incompetent? Yes, I failed. I failed, I failed, I failed. There. Are you happy? Do you finally get some pleasure from hearing me admit my mistake? I hope so...Gabriel, you act like you have no desire for the belt. You pretend that all it is is a trinket for idolators and the unfaithful. But you once were Xtreme Champion. You held this title, and I know you hunger to win it once more. Now, I am NOT your friend. I once was...you were once good...or so I thought. It seems that the darkest evils dwell within the hearts of men. You are a demented excuse for a preacher, and the lies that flow from you so effortlessly will do nothing to stem the tide of my rage. I do not claim that what I will do is holy. It is base and, in another context, might be considered reprehensible. But such are the circumstances.”
He turns, walking away from the light towards the darkness at the back of the church. As he walks, the details on his attire fade slowly into indistinct shadows, until all we have left is the glint of his visor and his title belt. He stands on the other edge of the roof, turning around to look at the point he came from. The camera focuses on the silhouette of the cross before returning to Tempestad. He smirks ruefully, realizing how melodramatic and foolish this must look.
“Both of you are convinced that you know what is right...you are convinced that you are in the right, and that the other two men in this match are incompetent at best and corrupt sinners at worst. I am no exception. I KNOW that you are both wrong...I know that you are one wicked man and one man blinded by passion. Which is which I do not know. I will let you two make that choice. In the meantime...I have some business to attend to. I will see you on Sunday...and may God have mercy on both of you.”
Tempestad takes a step forward before backflipping off the roof and out of sight. The camera goes to the edge, looking down to reveal Temp hanging by his fingers from the edge of the roof. He looks up annoyedly at the camera as we fade to black.