Post by Donnie Harris on Jun 7, 2024 20:37:56 GMT -5
-Talking to Britlyn, it didn’t help; talking to Sarah, it was less help. In fact, it worked him up even more. His worries, his concerns, her beliefs about him now: it was a flood of fog that consumed his mind, and Donnie struggled to think about what needed to be done.
BRADDOCK coming back scared him, anticipating the World Title match scared him; anything that could happen to Sarah scared him, and then all the rest of his fears came flooding in, both logical and illogical. Never had he let himself be more frightened in all of his life, even when staring down a guy with a knife: the reason why there was a small scar on his forehead, just below his hairline. Hell, the stitches he got as a result of Damage laying into him against the cage were less than an inch from that scar.
And he already knew that Je$TyR would target it; he was already considering not bothering with a wrap or a bandage to cover it up, because Je$TyR would tear the fucker open the second he could.
But it didn’t scare Donnie to bleed, even if the stitches were literally cut open, with a sharp enough blade, one at a time. Hell, the clown could rip each stitch out, damaging the flesh further, making it difficult for stitches or staples to resect the wound; Donnie wouldn’t give a fuck. Sure it would hurt, but Donnie wouldn’t allow fear to cloud his mind, let alone allowing the blood to obscure his vision.
He sees his target, and he’s primed and cocked to fire; why is he letting the fear in?
Is it because of Sarah? Is it because he wants to take her back, show her the Donnie he has become, or is it because of his shame over letting his father dictate the pace of his life, in all facets?
It didn’t matter; Sarah is right. Donnie needed to stop worrying so much. This is professional wrestling. As cutthroat as it is, no one worth their weight would try to do something so bad as to harm someone just for fun or just to get anyone riled up. Then again, it’s always possible.
And it was from thinking about all possibilities that the fear gathered, lingered; choked.-
)Sarah Hendricks(
Get through Boo-Boo The WackaDoo and get that championship.
-Of course, she was right. She always had to be right, always that cocky beautiful smile when she knew she was right back then.
Donnie needed to put his head down, get back in his head and look into the light of day in front of him, not the darkness that lingered behind. Follow the golden sun in the sky and shoot for the moon, grab that top prize; become king of the mountain.
Blah blah blah: all the metaphors for keeping cool, calm and collected while doing everything necessary to become champion.
And if that means Donnie has to be the one to bring order to chaos, there’s going to be a very angry, bruised and bloodied clown; they can both laugh it off after Donnie wins.-
-The scene opens in a dojo with a wooden floor in the middle of the room, surrounded by a tatami mat frame. People in the standard kendo armor, faces obscured by their men-gane, or protective face grates, knelt around the wooden floor as a central figure, clad in a black and red variant of their black and navy blue outfits; each consisted of a breastplate, the helmet, shoulder pads and a protective skirt around their waists.
Those viewing the one on the wooden platform were immovable, completely still and very attentive, as every swing of the bokuto, the solid wood-carved sword, was witnessed and studied by each. The kata was methodical but collusive, each swing leading to the next in a fluid display of skill, talent and potential growth, as all good things should be. This took another three minutes as one final downward slash and kiai, one last battle cry no different than a martial artist’s cry upon throwing a punch or a kick, was performed. Uniformly, the audience clapped respectfully, the shoulders of the one on the platform moving with each breath subtly, displaying a decent amount of exertion, but not enough to slow the person down.
Under the men, underneath the helmet of the kendo gear, was Donnie Harris, a black towel around his head like a bandana that served to catch his sweat and to cushion the heavy men that sat upon his head. He takes a deep breath and the applause ends, looking into the camera as it filmed him from his left.-
)Donnie Harris(
I have found that I must finally enact order to counter chaos. What better form of it than one of the strongest martial arts: kendo. It is a clear and concise message regarding cultivating vigorous spirit, “forever... cultivation of oneself”, and holding courtesy and honor to the highest pinnacle. These concepts, along with the other tenets beholden to this craft of combat, are what bring the idea and ideals of kendo together as one. It is with balance that all things come together; there is no good without evil, no light without darkness, no chaos without order. Je$TyR, in order for you to be as chaotic as you are, you must have a solid core within you to relate your chaos to order.
-Donnie turns slowly and faces the camera, wearing full traditional attire, down to the socks and shoes, his bokuto used as a light support. His face is bathed with sweat, as the tenugui holds much of his sweat from running down his face. His stitches are fully exposed, as if accepting without shame or fear the knowledge of this target.-
)Donnie Harris(
Then again, clown man, we both know that, in the grand scheme of things, in your most zen of states, you really DO NOT GIVE A HOT FLYING FUCK, do you? Like, let’s face facts here: you’ve been doing this for so long that you don’t even really see who’s across from you when the match begins, do you? You’re so focused on just being Je$TyR SeRyOuS, that the people around you, the ones standing in your way or even on your side, do not matter. They are one of two things: necessary puzzle pieces or nemeses. Either they are going to help you succeed or they’re trying to make you fail; in either case, you see them as one thing.
-Donnie takes a deep breath and rolls his wrist, slamming the spine of the bokuto into his shoulder pad, resting it there.-
)Donnie Harris(
Expendable.
-Donnie begins to pace, a lion in a cage, his free hand clenched in a tight fist as he breathes deeply. The atmosphere of the room bred this overarching sense of calm ferocity, a melancholy of malice just begging to be unleashed; Donnie fed off of it with great lasting relish.-
)Donnie Harris(
This is why, when I look at the world at large, while I see everyone standing around me, I see myself as the island I know I am. I am the sole provider of my fate, my destiny and my ability to succeed in this environment. My body is my sword; my mind is my shield. I carry the standard of greatness into battle, no matter who challenges me. It doesn’t matter who the challenge comes from, whether it’s a former champion like you or the current world champion in Clyde Newton, because I continue to bear the standard through win and loss. It is drawn from the simple fact that I drive myself to the last spark of willpower left in me, so that I carry no regrets with me after the battle is over and the victor is decided.
-Donnie’s pace remains constant as he walks the wooden platform, side to side, gripping the hilt of the bokuto with a firm, gentle grasp; his stance was relaxed, but he was as tense as a coiled viper.-
)Donnie Harris(
We live in a world of constant comparison, Je$TyR, and you have already delivered on your war of words through X, trying to psyche me out, trying to creep Sarah out; your attempts to throw me off my game are cute at best, and they’re a big joke at worst. After all, you’re the clown, and you have to make sure your standup routine is on point, unless you want to watch the crowds boo and treat you like the slug you are: slimy, slow, never going anywhere of importance in a big hurry. In fact, Jaxson Cain, with Britlyn’s concurrence, is the reason you have been given the ”important” role of keeping me sharp for my World Title Bout against Clyde Newton. Unfortunately for you, I trust their judgment. Even more unfortunate for you, I’ll have some weapons of my own to hang from the cage wall.
-Donnie smiles and, as he passes with the camera to his right, he points the bokuto directly at the camera, the red lacquer shimmering in the white lights that illuminated the dojo floor.-
)Donnie Harris(
This baby, which I will nickname my chimamere no ha, my bloodying blade, will be among the toys we get to play with, Je$TyR, and I know my way around a standard shinai too. In fact, whatever you have hanging up in the cage, I’m going to make sure that we have some fun, show you just how FUCKING balanced I am. It’s not going to matter how much you make me bleed when you rip this...
-Donnie uses the hilt of the bokuto and taps his forehead with the flat of it, right next to his stitches, pointing them out as the obvious targets.-
)Donnie Harris(
Because I have seen men and women bleed, and I have been covered in my own blood. Whatever you think you have in store for me, clown, you need to come to terms with the fact that, like you, I simply do not care. You can come at me all you want, with all manner of barbed wire or spiked implements, thumb tacks, LEGO bricks, doors, panes of glass; when it comes down to what the Eliminator will fight through, pain is nothing. Swayze says it best in Roadhouse: “Pain don’t hurt.” I’ll make sure to have some fun showing you some of the pain that I can and will make hurt, and I won’t be letting go so readily either.
-Donnie swings the bokuto like he was cleaning some moisture from the blade in one stroke, Donnie’s head following through as he watches the point from its peak to its fall.-
)Donnie Harris(
At the end of the day, Je$TyR, your name says it all; you go into combat as a clown, against a man who is a proven warrior. You should consider the... seriousness of your situation quite closely. Do I feel you’re a man being thrown to the wolves? No, absolutely not, because that would be unfair to you, to be picked apart so ravenously as to leave nothing behind, not even the smallest drop of blood spared in the soil. I would not be willing to face a helpless lamb, but you? You’re the fox in the henhouse, the scourge for my night, and I will exorcize you with the most extreme prejudice. I will put you through whatever hell is necessary to put you down and watch you wriggling by the end, like the worm you know you are. I just hope that you have your insurance coverage up to date, because you may need to take a few sick days again, just to get over the concussions and compound fractures I will inflict upon you in the Asylum.
-Donnie moves to replace the men, the helmet, but he stops for a second.-
)Donnie Harris(
I’m not taking your bullshit lying down either, so know what kind of immovable object you’re running into before you get hurt.
-Donnie lowers the helmet over his helmet and joins the entire room in standing at attention, delivering a respectful bow as the camera fades to black once again.-
BRADDOCK coming back scared him, anticipating the World Title match scared him; anything that could happen to Sarah scared him, and then all the rest of his fears came flooding in, both logical and illogical. Never had he let himself be more frightened in all of his life, even when staring down a guy with a knife: the reason why there was a small scar on his forehead, just below his hairline. Hell, the stitches he got as a result of Damage laying into him against the cage were less than an inch from that scar.
And he already knew that Je$TyR would target it; he was already considering not bothering with a wrap or a bandage to cover it up, because Je$TyR would tear the fucker open the second he could.
But it didn’t scare Donnie to bleed, even if the stitches were literally cut open, with a sharp enough blade, one at a time. Hell, the clown could rip each stitch out, damaging the flesh further, making it difficult for stitches or staples to resect the wound; Donnie wouldn’t give a fuck. Sure it would hurt, but Donnie wouldn’t allow fear to cloud his mind, let alone allowing the blood to obscure his vision.
He sees his target, and he’s primed and cocked to fire; why is he letting the fear in?
Is it because of Sarah? Is it because he wants to take her back, show her the Donnie he has become, or is it because of his shame over letting his father dictate the pace of his life, in all facets?
It didn’t matter; Sarah is right. Donnie needed to stop worrying so much. This is professional wrestling. As cutthroat as it is, no one worth their weight would try to do something so bad as to harm someone just for fun or just to get anyone riled up. Then again, it’s always possible.
And it was from thinking about all possibilities that the fear gathered, lingered; choked.-
)Sarah Hendricks(
Get through Boo-Boo The WackaDoo and get that championship.
-Of course, she was right. She always had to be right, always that cocky beautiful smile when she knew she was right back then.
Donnie needed to put his head down, get back in his head and look into the light of day in front of him, not the darkness that lingered behind. Follow the golden sun in the sky and shoot for the moon, grab that top prize; become king of the mountain.
Blah blah blah: all the metaphors for keeping cool, calm and collected while doing everything necessary to become champion.
And if that means Donnie has to be the one to bring order to chaos, there’s going to be a very angry, bruised and bloodied clown; they can both laugh it off after Donnie wins.-
-The scene opens in a dojo with a wooden floor in the middle of the room, surrounded by a tatami mat frame. People in the standard kendo armor, faces obscured by their men-gane, or protective face grates, knelt around the wooden floor as a central figure, clad in a black and red variant of their black and navy blue outfits; each consisted of a breastplate, the helmet, shoulder pads and a protective skirt around their waists.
Those viewing the one on the wooden platform were immovable, completely still and very attentive, as every swing of the bokuto, the solid wood-carved sword, was witnessed and studied by each. The kata was methodical but collusive, each swing leading to the next in a fluid display of skill, talent and potential growth, as all good things should be. This took another three minutes as one final downward slash and kiai, one last battle cry no different than a martial artist’s cry upon throwing a punch or a kick, was performed. Uniformly, the audience clapped respectfully, the shoulders of the one on the platform moving with each breath subtly, displaying a decent amount of exertion, but not enough to slow the person down.
Under the men, underneath the helmet of the kendo gear, was Donnie Harris, a black towel around his head like a bandana that served to catch his sweat and to cushion the heavy men that sat upon his head. He takes a deep breath and the applause ends, looking into the camera as it filmed him from his left.-
)Donnie Harris(
I have found that I must finally enact order to counter chaos. What better form of it than one of the strongest martial arts: kendo. It is a clear and concise message regarding cultivating vigorous spirit, “forever... cultivation of oneself”, and holding courtesy and honor to the highest pinnacle. These concepts, along with the other tenets beholden to this craft of combat, are what bring the idea and ideals of kendo together as one. It is with balance that all things come together; there is no good without evil, no light without darkness, no chaos without order. Je$TyR, in order for you to be as chaotic as you are, you must have a solid core within you to relate your chaos to order.
-Donnie turns slowly and faces the camera, wearing full traditional attire, down to the socks and shoes, his bokuto used as a light support. His face is bathed with sweat, as the tenugui holds much of his sweat from running down his face. His stitches are fully exposed, as if accepting without shame or fear the knowledge of this target.-
)Donnie Harris(
Then again, clown man, we both know that, in the grand scheme of things, in your most zen of states, you really DO NOT GIVE A HOT FLYING FUCK, do you? Like, let’s face facts here: you’ve been doing this for so long that you don’t even really see who’s across from you when the match begins, do you? You’re so focused on just being Je$TyR SeRyOuS, that the people around you, the ones standing in your way or even on your side, do not matter. They are one of two things: necessary puzzle pieces or nemeses. Either they are going to help you succeed or they’re trying to make you fail; in either case, you see them as one thing.
-Donnie takes a deep breath and rolls his wrist, slamming the spine of the bokuto into his shoulder pad, resting it there.-
)Donnie Harris(
Expendable.
-Donnie begins to pace, a lion in a cage, his free hand clenched in a tight fist as he breathes deeply. The atmosphere of the room bred this overarching sense of calm ferocity, a melancholy of malice just begging to be unleashed; Donnie fed off of it with great lasting relish.-
)Donnie Harris(
This is why, when I look at the world at large, while I see everyone standing around me, I see myself as the island I know I am. I am the sole provider of my fate, my destiny and my ability to succeed in this environment. My body is my sword; my mind is my shield. I carry the standard of greatness into battle, no matter who challenges me. It doesn’t matter who the challenge comes from, whether it’s a former champion like you or the current world champion in Clyde Newton, because I continue to bear the standard through win and loss. It is drawn from the simple fact that I drive myself to the last spark of willpower left in me, so that I carry no regrets with me after the battle is over and the victor is decided.
-Donnie’s pace remains constant as he walks the wooden platform, side to side, gripping the hilt of the bokuto with a firm, gentle grasp; his stance was relaxed, but he was as tense as a coiled viper.-
)Donnie Harris(
We live in a world of constant comparison, Je$TyR, and you have already delivered on your war of words through X, trying to psyche me out, trying to creep Sarah out; your attempts to throw me off my game are cute at best, and they’re a big joke at worst. After all, you’re the clown, and you have to make sure your standup routine is on point, unless you want to watch the crowds boo and treat you like the slug you are: slimy, slow, never going anywhere of importance in a big hurry. In fact, Jaxson Cain, with Britlyn’s concurrence, is the reason you have been given the ”important” role of keeping me sharp for my World Title Bout against Clyde Newton. Unfortunately for you, I trust their judgment. Even more unfortunate for you, I’ll have some weapons of my own to hang from the cage wall.
-Donnie smiles and, as he passes with the camera to his right, he points the bokuto directly at the camera, the red lacquer shimmering in the white lights that illuminated the dojo floor.-
)Donnie Harris(
This baby, which I will nickname my chimamere no ha, my bloodying blade, will be among the toys we get to play with, Je$TyR, and I know my way around a standard shinai too. In fact, whatever you have hanging up in the cage, I’m going to make sure that we have some fun, show you just how FUCKING balanced I am. It’s not going to matter how much you make me bleed when you rip this...
-Donnie uses the hilt of the bokuto and taps his forehead with the flat of it, right next to his stitches, pointing them out as the obvious targets.-
)Donnie Harris(
Because I have seen men and women bleed, and I have been covered in my own blood. Whatever you think you have in store for me, clown, you need to come to terms with the fact that, like you, I simply do not care. You can come at me all you want, with all manner of barbed wire or spiked implements, thumb tacks, LEGO bricks, doors, panes of glass; when it comes down to what the Eliminator will fight through, pain is nothing. Swayze says it best in Roadhouse: “Pain don’t hurt.” I’ll make sure to have some fun showing you some of the pain that I can and will make hurt, and I won’t be letting go so readily either.
-Donnie swings the bokuto like he was cleaning some moisture from the blade in one stroke, Donnie’s head following through as he watches the point from its peak to its fall.-
)Donnie Harris(
At the end of the day, Je$TyR, your name says it all; you go into combat as a clown, against a man who is a proven warrior. You should consider the... seriousness of your situation quite closely. Do I feel you’re a man being thrown to the wolves? No, absolutely not, because that would be unfair to you, to be picked apart so ravenously as to leave nothing behind, not even the smallest drop of blood spared in the soil. I would not be willing to face a helpless lamb, but you? You’re the fox in the henhouse, the scourge for my night, and I will exorcize you with the most extreme prejudice. I will put you through whatever hell is necessary to put you down and watch you wriggling by the end, like the worm you know you are. I just hope that you have your insurance coverage up to date, because you may need to take a few sick days again, just to get over the concussions and compound fractures I will inflict upon you in the Asylum.
-Donnie moves to replace the men, the helmet, but he stops for a second.-
)Donnie Harris(
I’m not taking your bullshit lying down either, so know what kind of immovable object you’re running into before you get hurt.
-Donnie lowers the helmet over his helmet and joins the entire room in standing at attention, delivering a respectful bow as the camera fades to black once again.-