Post by Finn Whelan on Mar 4, 2018 21:46:13 GMT -5
NOTE: ROLEPLAY CARRIES A BIT OF UNEDITED PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL FOR WORLD WRESTLING HEADQUARTERS FROM BOTH FINN AND ELENA DEDRACA (POSTED WITH PERMISSION). WANTED TO MAKE SURE CHARACTER CONTINUITY FLOWED THROUGH ALL PROMOTIONS. WOLVES OF GHEIMHRIDH // REPLAY  INTO THE FIRE "From a cage I created to a hell and heaven made, can’t let go of the hatred because I love the way it tastes." - Asking Alexandria ••••• Families were never really what they were expected to be. There are always families where they were strong simply because they were of that family bloodline. You would see this in Kings and Queens of various companies, and even the Roman Catholic Pope was based on a supposed belief that they were tied to the line of Peter, the apostle that was like a rock . . . though every time he denied his master. That never made sense to me. But oh well. In other cases, families were made from those they chose. And the thought carried that those who chose their families made them stronger than any silly bloodline. You would always choose people who would elevate you both mentally and physically, people who would make life stronger for you. People who would hold your hand and your body before the world crashed into a respite that only a few would ever learn. It was this belief that carried in Finn Whelan's mind, up until a month ago. Families were stronger when they were created. And he'd made his family. But not every little piece of his existence had been made easy, or even correct with his hands in it. You see, at the age of fifteen -- or rather, at the time he was known as Callien --, Finn's family changed from those who ran hot with his bloodline. The O'Hanlon family was a massively hot-headed band of Irish tempers and rage, fulfilling their "warrior" name-meaning well. Every single one of them, save for Meara -- the mother -- had a temper the size of Jupiter and a penchant for making others miserable. But it was their loyalty to their "families" that made them who they were. Callien had been a young lad at the age of fifteen when he forsook his family name and banded with a young woman in London by the name of Elena DeDraca. Perhaps you recognize the name, and if you don't, that's okay. But Elena was his best friend, and with the tag along little Dimitri from the orphanage in which Elena had lived her entire life, they had a little miscreant family. They called each other sister and brother and they ran the streets of London and they did what they wanted. At least, until Finn was ordered back home to his O'Hanlon family territory after the summer ended. When he was eighteen, he lost everything. He turned to the streets of Seattle from which he lived, and was left there for some time. He'd lost contact with his sister and his brother, and multiple moves were made that wrote he shouldn't have lived in the end. But he was saved by a young woman who, though she didn't have to, showed him a little kindness. He ended up marrying her, what with her multicolored hair and her little Irish temper herself. She was a wrestler, retired now. She, along with a former World Champion, trained Finn from barfighting douchewad to a combatant worthy of titles and fame. They'd found each other again, he and Elena. And now they were unstoppable. They walked into a company and they razed it to the ground, standing at the top of the mountain in the beginning of 2018 -- Elena as their Women's World Champion, and Finn reigning at the top of the brand as the World Champion himself. But their family was never chosen. Their strength, though strong before, was only increased after their family secret came to light. You see, Finn's father was an asshole. He got a little pub server pregnant on a cold, winter night on the night of his bachelor party. He was never told, nor did he care, for after that evening, the little pub gal by the name of Maggie was forgotten in his mind. He left Ireland and he took his new wife to America. Maggie was left to fend for herself, and she gave birth to a squalling little child she named Elena, who was forced to live in an orphanage because Maggie couldn't provide for her. It wouldn't be until they were both nearly thirty that Maggie would see Elena and Finn together, side by side, and realize who they were. And when they were told, they were both shocked. But it made sense. They seemed familiar, and their tempers were unrivaled. Rage drove them. And it was what drove Finn and Co. to the series of events that befell the Seattle Saint after his promotional video for Union Battleground. ••••• 18 FEBRUARY 2018 // SEATTLE, WASHINGTON “It’s unfortunate, but that’s honestly all we can do about it.” Kei’s heavily Japanese-accented voice sounded emotionless over the phone, and Finn could imagine him sitting at his desk, looking through the enormous window that gave him a clear picture of his training facility . . . and every shady as fuck deal that was going to happen within the place. The man was meticulous and macabre, and if truth were told, he likely didn’t particularly care about the fact that Scotty DuVall had met such an untimely end. In fact, he probably was more than thrilled that he had. It saved him from doing the job himself. There were things, however, that Finn could not do. He’d beaten the man with the pipe over and over, but he was still breathing in the end. Brain damage from the head trauma was likely, but in the end, it didn’t affect him. Finn left the glock on the floor -- he wasn’t interested in putting his hands on it, and if anyone ever interrogated him, he could state that it was self-defense. After all, the gun had been pointed at him. “Did you acquire the items?” “Yeah. They’re all intact too.” “Good. See, this is why I can count on you, Kyodai. More than others.” Finn sat in his rented vehicle -- a black Subaru WRX STI with tinted windows -- and stared out the window at the establishment that sat in-between two extremely large skyscrapers in downtown Seattle. The rain crashed down relentlessly, and had become much stronger than it had been earlier; it rolled down the windshield in droves, but it didn’t stop him from making out the sign above. O’Hanlon’s. Too many years he’d seen that damn lit-up sign, its green Celtic lettering looming down over him. There was so much in the Irish culture that built themselves off of family and ancestry, and you relied as much as you could on your family name to get you places in the world. O’Hanlon had been a name he carried with him for so long -- still, even to this day -- that was supposed to bring pride and notoriety.. For him, it only brought irritation and shame. It stood for a warrior. All that he associated with it was a snake. Redemption would have to be bought for the name with the abolishment of his family’s crimes. For Finn, that needed to happen sooner than later. Too long had he let his hatred fester within him . . . but he had no idea how to let go of it either. Don’t waste your time on him, Finnegan. Elena had told him that, but it wasn’t a time waste when you were confronting your own demons. Your own past. At some point, he was going to have to face it. “You have your match on Friday, right? At Union?” “Yeah.” Finn was brought back to Earth, and he moved his head, glancing over at the clock. It was late; midnight of the nineteenth, and his flight had been scheduled over three hours ago to head back to Newburgh, and then Garrison. He’d originally wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up with Aaron and try to forget the day. But without even thinking, he found himself jumping off the Five and heading into downtown Seattle. He gripped the steering wheel in his fingers with his left hand, the other holding his cell with the speaker on. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid. You’ve got a lot riding here. Crown of the King Cobra tournament match in China on Friday. Then you’re jetsetting to Calgary on Sunday for the World Title. Rest. Relaxation. Breathing. Prepare for the matches because you’re going to be going through hell. What have you worked for, Finn? This. You went through every competitor that’s been thrown at you for the better part of the last year, Kyodai.” But his mind wasn’t on his career. Not right now. No, it was stuck on everything other than this match. Like it always was. His mind had been focused on Kei’s attack on Aaron at So-Cal. He’d been focused on Aaron the entire time in Phoenix. This was redemption. This was required. But now his mind was on one thing. And that one “thing” was sitting upstairs in his little office counting his coffers and ruining someone else’s life, he was certain. He wanted to be focused on Rodney Stillwater on Friday. He wanted to be focused for Lex Collins on Sunday. He was going to do this. And he was going to be fucking successful, goddammit. “Right.” Finn replied, and he tapped his foot apprehensively on the pedal of the car. Luckily, it was off, otherwise, he’d be shooting through the structure and paying for damages that he couldn’t afford. At least, not right now. “Where are you at in your head, kid?” Kei questioned, and Finn was silent. It didn’t take brain science to know everything that the Irish-American was thinking. Finn was a master at disguising happiness and glee, but he had never been good at cutting off the fountains of his anger, and even less able to cut off the rage that seemed to coat his features on a frequent basis. He couldn’t take it out of his words. He couldn’t remove it from his countenance. “Don’t do anything reckless.” Recklessness. It was his middle name. “I have to go. Text when the others are back with their package.” “O’Hanlon, if you hang up the phone on me--” And then he was gone. Finn tossed his phone into the seat of the vehicle and slammed the door shut with a thunderous thump. His fingers were clenched tightly into his palm, his nails almost cutting into his skin. As he thrust open the door, he was instantly brought back to a childhood he’d rather forget. The pub hadn’t changed except for the typical renovations over the last ten years. A woman played a penny whistle while a man sat on the sitar, a violinist playing with them as well in a lively jig. It was all so goddamn corny, a typical ploy to get people in the feel for that ol’ Irish pub mentality. People played into it, it was a novelty for them. But for them, it was their livelihood . . . until Finn squandered that right. “Callien?” It was the same fucks that had been there for days in and days out. But it was the beautiful, older redheaded woman that stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass (as any barkeep would be doing) that instantly caught his attention. Her hazel eyes stared at him from across the room, wide, as if she honestly couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Mo mhac?” She questioned. “Máthair.” He hadn’t seen her in a year, though he knew she sat downstairs and turned on the television whenever he had a match -- regardless of if his father liked it or not. Meara O’Hanlon was astonished, and she quickly dropped her wet rag, running around the side of the bar and quite literally throwing her arms about her son as she shouted unintelligible words in Irish. She was five-foot-four and Finn stood a full foot over her, but that didn’t stop her from wrapping her arms tightly around him and hugging him. The twenty-nine-year-old patted his mother on her shoulder, trying desperately not to call attention to himself, but that was already done. “Ma.” He groaned, staring up at the ceiling. And just as volatile as the rest of the family, she pulled back and quite forcefully slapped her son across the face. “This took you far too long, Callien.” She growled at him. “Missed you too.” “Please tell me you’re here to settle this asinine disagreement you’ve had with your father.” She looked so certain that’s why he was here. After all, when he’d stormed out ten years ago and told his father to rightly fuck off, what else would you expect when your son finally appears again in a place he hated? As much as he hated his father, Finn very much loved his mother. And his sister. Despite the outward appearance that Roinn had created, abolishing their very existence in his life, she had tried to stay very much a part of it. He didn’t want to break her heart anymore than he already had. “I’m here to talk to him.” He didn’t say what for. But it was as if she knew. She laughed lightly when he gave her a face. “I knew it would always come down to this, one day . . . eventually. Blood always finds blood.” He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at her. She didn’t say anything more, but smiled softly and reached up, pressing her fingers to his face. “Be careful, my little one. You carry so much rage in you, but it is nothing compared to the fire your father carries.” The sins of the father, passed down to the son. His anger, his protector qualities, passed down to Finn whether he liked it or not. Once upon a time, he’d never understood that. Now . . . now he did. He put in the back of his mind that Kieran and Zoey never needed to see this side of him. Not at home. No, at home, he needed to be the same person that Isabella once adored (and still did even if she didn’t show it right now -- she was more stubborn than her mother), and the person that his children could rely on. He wasn’t going to be perfect by any means, but he was going to try. He would not pass on his father’s hatred for him onto his own children. “Eventually, Ma, someone is going to fall.” He told her quite bluntly. “I know. And that is what I fear.” She shook her head. “He’s upstairs. Please be careful.” “I will.” He assured her, but honestly, he wasn’t sure how careful he could be. He watched as she slipped away once more from him, forced to walk away when all she did was want to be a mom to her son. It was just one more stain on the list of Roinn O’Hanlon’s failures. He ascended the staircase, having recalled doing it so many times as a child. When he was younger, he’d laugh as he did it, carrying the week’s mail up into the room and setting it on the mahogany desk in the organized little box. He’d scamper over to see what his father was doing. As he grew older, the tasks became less enthusiastic, and he began begrudgingly climbing the stairs as a teen, until he just stopped entirely. They’d blown up at each other in this office. His father had told him he was a worthless waste of space. That he wanted nothing to do with him. And that was just fine with him. “Meara, I’m busy.” The older O’Hanlon muttered from the other side of the door. Just the simple sound of his voice pissed Finn off, almost instantly. His nose twitched, his eyebrows furrowed, and he pushed his way into the room, slamming his hand on the doorknob and pushing it open with a force that he didn’t think he had. (That was a lie, he obvious knew about it). “Good thing I’m not Máthair then, hm?” Finn replied scathingly. Roinn O’Hanlon had grown older in the past ten years than Finn had expected. His once dark hair was silver now, and cut fairly cleanly. He shaved, he followed his routine, and he was fairly set in his ways. Stubborn. There wasn’t much he could do to change that, nor did he want to. He and Finn were very, very similar. Except Roinn stomped on everything Finn cared about like the best father in the world. Roinn sat up slightly from his paperwork, setting his strikingly blue eyes -- the same eyes Finn carried -- on his son. He was stoic in his expression, as if he were contemplating multiple scenarios that could happen, and deciding just which road he truly wanted to walk down. Finally, the older man spoke, pulling his reading glasses from his face and shaking his head. “You need to leave.” “Sure. When I’m done.” Finn replied, and to emphasize his intentions, he walked forward towards the desk. “I have a bone to pick with you, Old Man.” Roinn let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you always?” “It’s just so easy, since you’re, ya know, you.” “I will make it simple then, Callien. Leave.” “No, Athair. I won’t.” Finn placed his hands on the desk and loomed down at his father’s face. “Why didn’t you say you had some bastard child, hm?” Roinn’s expression did not change. He merely stared at his son, awaiting the moment in which he would either need to dial the number for the police, or throw up his own hands. Honestly, both would probably be good choices. “You want to know what’s hilarious?” Finn kept going, knowing that despite the look of distance on his father’s face, he was actually starting to seethe. “I thought you were, of all things, at least an honorable man. A dick, most definitely, but honorable. Treat your family with kindness and care, protect them from the world. That kind of shit. I understood it to a degree, but I never quite saw the reality until now. You don’t give a flying fuck what happens to this family, as long as it doesn’t reflect badly on you.” The older man rose to his feet, and he leaned forward on the desk just as his son had. He did not have the tattoos or the attitude of his child, but all the same, the similarities were striking. “I assume you’re prattling off your bullshit for a reason.” “Damn right I am.” Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Does the name ‘Maggie’ seem familiar to your old, wizened ass?” Recognition seemed to flow into Roinn’s countenance, but if he was going to be honest, then Finn wouldn’t have ever had a reason to hate him. But he wasn’t. He shrugged his shoulders. “Should it?” Finn’s reaction was instantaneous. He reached upwards with his right hand, clutched his father’s hair in his hand, and quite literally slammed his father’s face right into the wooden desk. Instantly, blood pooled out of the man’s nose as it cracked, and began to stream down his lips in angry torrents. “You tell me.” He growled. Dazed, Roinn held his hand to his nose and shook his head, stumbling backwards a bit. The blow hadn’t been expected, and to be honest, Finn had never quite retaliated as a child. Every attack had been ended by him, and to have his son respond in such a manner was lightly astonishing. If he didn’t abhor him as much as he did, he probably would have been able to feel pride. Finn didn’t wait for him to mutter anything, to respond to him. “You had a kid with someone else, and while that’s completely fucking bullshit, you did it while Ma was pregnant with me. Even worse, you fucking let her fend for herself instead of doing the right thing. The honorable thing. The thing you would have demanded I did if I’d fucked up so royally. Luckily, I’m not you, and my kids will never have to deal with the shit I did.” More information that than he was able to process flooded Roinn. He didn’t even know he had grandkids -- and why should he? He didn’t speak to his son, and as far as he knew, neither did Meara. “You know what the hilarious part is?” Finn was relentless. He moved around the desk, and he pressed his fingers to the scruff of Roinn’s collar, grasping it and hauling him away from the desk. “Out of seven billion people in the world, what would be the odds that I would find my half-sister? And what, praytell, would lead me to find her because of your decisions? That’s right. The ‘piece of trash’ you’ve hated since you met her -- besides me, of course -- is my sister. Elena. Good job, Pops.” Roinn tried to gain the upper hand, tugging his son’s shirt backwards and halting his movement, the very same moment that he thrust his hand upwards and into Finn’s face, gripping his jaw and pushing upwards. But long had the younger O’Hanlon had long forgotten what it was like to be afraid of his father, and with a well-placed knee to his stomach, he had the wind knocked out of Roinn’s chest. “You cheated on Máthair. You’ve held an iron fist over this family, spouting epithets of honor and integrity, and here you are, a hypocrite. We should have been done with you fucking ages ago. I was. But I wanted to make sure that you got this message loud and fucking clear.” Finn drug him to the top of the staircase, and he pulled upwards, shaking him. Roinn snorted then, shaking his head. He knew where this was going. “Elena . . . she’s that one that’s a champion, right? Everywhere she goes? Maybe at some point during your Ma’s pregnancy . . . I figured you were going to be a waste of space, so I made sure there was someone who was better than you. And here you are, still a waste of space. Still trash. I don’t even claim you’re my--” And down he went. Finn literally tossed the man down the steps, hauling him by his collar and his belt, and flung him. He crashed against several of individual stairs and landed in a mass of tangled limbs at the bottom. But Finn wasn’t done. He rushed down them after him, his teeth grit angrily, and was instantly on him, ramming his fist into his face. Repeatedly. That was the problem with people like the O’Hanlons. They never knew quite when to stop. You could see it in Finn’s demeanor, Elena’s . . . any one of them that existed in the world. If they had the blood of a warrior, their rage and their exuberance for pain were unparalleled. It would be passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, and the cycle would never end. And neither did Finn. He didn’t hear the sound of the police being dialed, he didn’t even hear his mother screaming at him to stop. And he didn’t. Not until one of the patrons of the pub, a rather large fellow, reached down and grasped Finn, lifting him almost off his feet. He flung him down onto one of the tables, holding his arms behind his back. The worst part about this wasn’t the arrest that came roughly fifteen minutes later, or even being hauled out of the pub -- or not being able to call his family. It was honestly the fact that he hadn’t destroyed Roinn to within an inch of his life. In that moment, it was all he wanted. But he’d made a statement. Like he always did. Like he always will. ••••• 19 FEBRUARY 2018 // HARBORVIEW HOSPITAL, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! She felt the vibration inside of her bag -- again and again. She was fully aware of who it was, but was still torn about her reaction. She had been standing in front of this grey building for the past twenty minutes, fighting herself inside her mind. But there was still no winner. Elena DeDraca tried her hardest to lie to herself to show them that she didn’t care, but she did. As a grown-up woman, she was able to deal with rejection -- but the fourteen-year-old still wasn’t. And she never will. When her phone went off again, she mumbled underneath her breath, probably cursing. When she took it out, there was around 48 notifications all from the same person. Margaret Elizabeth Edwards. Mother. With a deep sigh, she opened the last message and regretted it immediately. It was hard to believe that words on a screen could transport human emotions so easily. Or maybe it was the expression on Margaret’s face when she left that night. Please forgive me. I didn’t know. Please. There was only one problem with that plead: there was nothing to forgive. Elena wasn’t mad. She was disgusted by discovering who the man was -- but not mad. A deep sigh escaped her before she slipped the phone into the bag, then started to walk. Here and there, curious eyes followed her, which came with with little surprise. El was the ripped jeans and band shirts type -- but not today. She was wearing a black designer dress combined with oversized sunglasses. The friendly lady behind the information desk gave her a nervous smile, listening to her thick accent, which only added to the already Drusilla-like appearance. Without asking twice, the female gave her the directions towards the required room. She had muted every noise around her, concentrating on the clicking of her heels. It didn’t take more than ten minutes before she stood in front of the half-opened door. Her eyes focused on the man inside his bed. I can see what she spotted in him. Even with the numerous bruises and his swollen eye, he was still somewhat handsome. An elder version of her brother. There were metal clamps around his jaw, obviously holding it in place. A devilish grin appeared on her face. Her train of thoughts was abruptly interrupted when a nurse left the room -- almost bumping into her. “I am sorry, ma'am. Were you looking for someone?” Her tone was way too sweet, but Elena played into the charade. “That is very kind of you but I have already found what I was looking for.” Dramatic pause. “I just heard what has happened to my father -- and took a direct flight. Thank you for taking such good care of him.” Vomit in my mouth. The woman nodded before walking down the corridor, taking care of her business. Elena took a deep breath before sliding inside the room, closing the door quietly. Thanks to the morphine that constantly was bumped into his body, he didn’t recognize her until she was standing right over him. In his weakened state, he tried to reach for the alarm button, but she was quicker. “Nah, nah. Is that a way to greet your daughter? I would have thought the mighty Roinn O’Hanlon has better manners.” She put the alarm on the small desk. “I think it is long overdue we talk, Daddy. Just you and me.” Her voice was calm and almost stoic. No emotion shown through her words -- which was something new for him. He was used to people crawling in front of him, obeying. She slowly took off the sunglasses and grabbed a nearby chair, placing it next to his bed. But she wouldn’t sit before stopping the steady dropping of the morphine. “I know you are probably in awful pain, but it would benefit us both if you weren’t Bob Marley high. I meant to visit way earlier, but you know how it is -- business comes first. Maybe that is something I got from you after all.” She patted his bruised hand with a grin. “Obviously didn’t get your good looks or your awesome sense of loving your family. No wait, we’re starting this whole reunion wrong.” Her fingers crawled into his hand, nudging the needle in deeper. “I am scum. Remember? That is what you called me the first time we met -- although your words were more colourful. That time, I thought you were caring about Callien and the way his life would proceed. And Roinn, I was scum. I had nothing. I was nothing. So I didn’t fight you that day. But with many years passing by, I realized what your true intentions were that day. You wanted your control back.” He tried to open his mouth but was painfully reminded of the clamps holding it shut. Elena playfully shook her head, looking at him. “Don’t be silly, Pops. They only glued you back together, don’t ruin the moment. Where was I? Oh yeah, control. You didn’t know the slightest shit about me back then, apart from one thing -- Callien loved me. He listened to me and that was nothing you were able to tolerate. Who was this pale, skinny piece of shit whispering to your son? Telling him to stand up for himself and take a royal shit on your mahogany table? May I introduce myself to you in a proper way? I am the result of your hide and seek event with Maggie. I am sure it has gotten to you by now -- obviously, Finn has beaten it into your skull.” All this time he was looking at her from his one good eye, and even on drugs, the rage was there. No one dared to speak to him like that. The expression on her face was as fake as most boobs in the wrestling business. “It will make you happy to hear that all your grandkids are doing fine. The twins as much as my daughter. The ones that you probably will never see because -- let's face it -- you are the real scum. You cheated on your pregnant fianceè, tried to break your son's spirit, and spit on everyone that didn’t bow down to the almighty Roinn. Interrupt me if I miss out on anything.” She giggled. “My bad. But let’s come to the point of my visit, shall we? In less than a week, your son will write history. He will become the WWH World Champion. Does that make you proud?” She added more pressure to his hand, hearing him whine. A wave of satisfaction crushed through her body, causing her to shiver. “Do I make you proud? Did you know that I am undefeated? That I carry a prestigious title and make it look effortless? No. I didn’t think so. But I will make this easy for you. Finn is my family. He is none of your business anymore -- you’ve forsaken that right. I have been father, mother and sister for him whenever you decided to be a dick. Which means pretty much all his life.” She slowly got up from the chair, lowering herself. Her hand resting on his chest. “I got nothing to hide, Roinn. So listen very carefully to my next words: shall you think about ruining this for him -- you will answer to me. I will grab down your throat and rip out your lungs. You don’t know what I am capable of and how little I care about you.” Elena leaned down further resting most of her weight on his chest, adding to his pain. Her full lips close to his ear, pushing warm breath against it. She whispered. “You have never done any good for this family, Father. But I will fix your mistakes, once and for all. You understand? You hold no value in our lives -- ever again. Return to your perfect little bubble and seal your lips. For better or worse.” She gave him a brief kiss to the side of his head. It was almost gentle, but her eyes hadn’t changed. They were serious and a few shades darker than usual. With a few quick moves, she started his morphine again, grabbing her sunglasses. Elena also placed the alarm back in his hand, walking towards the door -- when nurses already sprinted down the corridor. “Never forget this, Roinn. He is my blood. And if I must -- I will make you nothing more than a memory.” She opened the door when the hospital staff rushed in. “Love you, Daddy.” And then she was out of the room and out of his life, unless he forgot his place in this world. And for the first time she was certain that Callien was her brother. They were like two puzzle pieces -- fitting perfectly. He was the straightforward one that would burn your shit down without any remorse. Elena? She was the one that would come at you with a rusty spoon and a smile on her face while spilling your guts on the floor. It runs in your blood, Sister. •••••• 20 FEBRUARY 2018 // SEATTLE, WASHINGTON Finn sat on the cement floor in a ten-by-ten cage, pressing the crown of his head to the white brick wall behind him. He stared up at the ceiling of the jail cell, his eyes focused on literally nothing as his thoughts surrounded his actions. Kei had always said that it was better to try and clear your mind through meditation, especially when your heart is riled. When your heart was able to be sated, your mind and soul could align, and the maximum amount of damage could be attained. That, right now, was what he was trying to find. If he could do that, then he could push himself forward and attain the glory that he was searching for. It’d been thirty-five hours since he’d been tossed into the cell, since he’d laid his hands on the man who shared his name and his blood, but not his family. He couldn’t deny that rage had overwhelmed him -- again -- but he felt both vindicated and justified. He hadn’t been given a washcloth, nor had he been given the opportunity to wash the blood off of his hands. It’d thoroughly saturated his right hand, having slammed it so many times into the jaw of his victim, and a spray from the broken nose he’d inflicted had splashed onto his face. Red dotted his white shirt and encompassed at least half of his tattooed arm. It’d been invigorating, at the very least. And liberating. He’d been told by the arresting officer, rather derisively, that his father was pressing charges against him for battery and attempted murder, and he’d snorted in response. Attempted murder. Murder hadn’t even been on his mind -- he wasn’t that much of a monster. Yet. “How far are you willing to go to protect the people you care about?” He opened an eye precariously and glanced to the cell next to him. An old man sat there, grizzled and grey. His beard was long, and Finn was fairly certain he could smell the acrid scent of stale alcohol and piss wafting off him. But he seemed alert, and though he looked like an insane homeless person from his place on the floor, the way in which his gravelly voice spoke was far from non-lucidity. “Finnegan Whelan.” He muttered, staring at Finn now with whitened, watery eyes. They were probably once grey, but had completely faded to nothing. Finn chose to ignore him. He closed his eyes again, once more, before and went back to trying to clear his mind. If there was anything that he was not, it was distracted by the world around him. Or at least, that was what he tried to be. “Would you allow your wife to be alone?” The old man continued to speak to him, despite Finn’s disregard. “Would you allow Aaron to exist without you, without your protection?” His eyes snapped open. “What about Zoey and Kieran?” Finn turned his head to look at the man once more, his eyes narrowing. “How far are you willing to go?” “The fuck are you, Old Man?” Finn questioned, staring at him with both a confused and mildly irritated gaze. “Hideshima will have you walk on a path to ruin, but there is no reason for you stand for him -- yet you do. There was no reason for you to do such venomous acts to your own flesh and blood -- and yet, you sought the man out to inflict wounds that will never heal. Why?” Finn was silent as he took in the sight of the man once more. Beyond the few mentions on Twitter, Zoey and Kieran weren’t public knowledge. Nor was his “position” within Kei’s Yakuza Syndicate. Either this man was omnipotent, or he was a figment of Finn’s imagination. He hadn’t slept in seventy-one hours: sue him. “Let’s say I entertain the fact that you’re not a hallucination -- what’s the point of this conversation?” The Old Man chuckled, shaking his head softly. “Oh, it’s just an introspective moment for you, Whelan. Every once and a while, we all have those moments where you question your life, and every step you’ve taken. This is your moment, kid. Are you okay with everything you’ve done?” Finn grit his teeth, glancing over to the opposite door of the room where it led into the police station. He really didn’t need “insane” added as a note to the bottom of his paperwork. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He replied, turning his head finally to completely face him. “Every step I move in further to Kei’s outfit, I keep my family protected. Every step I move in destroying the people I care about keeps my family safe from all things that could harm them -- physical or abstract.” “. . . is this only about protecting your family, Finnegan? Or is it about venegance?” Silence covered Finn’s mouth, and so, the Old Man continued. “Your sister, Addisyn . . . are you okay with her knowing that you wanted to murder your father in cold blood? Are you okay with Isabella, your dearest niece, discovering her Uncle has an aggressive streak within him, when all she sees is a man who dotes on her whenever she asks? What about your half-sister? Are you okay with everyone knowing what you are? The world?” Finn snorted. “And what am I?” “That is a good question. What exactly are you? A hero? A murderer?” “Neither.” Finn replied, and it was the truth. Despite his penchant for bloodshed, he only ever did what was exactly necessary. “Everyone deserves their consequence. And I have only ever done what was required. I will only ever do what has ever been required.” The old man chuckled. “Tell me . . . what does your opponent in Calgary deserve? Was the way you treated him, as a friend turned to a foe, what was required?” You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. It was a saying that had been repeated so many times from the movie, but it was true -- The Dark Knight spoke in volumes. Finn wasn’t the villain. Not in his own mind, anyway. But perhaps it was time to take that mantle. It was time to become the hated, simply so that he could rise above the people who never believed that he would, one day, amount to anything. Or that he would ever rise above them, stuck beneath with only a midcard title and nothing to fight for. But he wanted to rise. The Wolf wanted his moment. “Absolutely. And I’d do it again a thousand times.” The man chuckled. “Of course you would.” And then, he was gone. “You’re a lucky kid, O’Hanlon.” Outside of the cell, an officer approached, and he pressed a button on the wall across from Finn. The metal barred-door opened slowly, leaving an open trail to the outside world once more. “Someone must really love you out there, because your charges have been dropped. You’re free to go.” It took very little time for Finn to exit the city police station; he was out processed, and let go of. The officers didn’t want to deal with someone who wasn’t going to gain them pay. He winced as he stepped out into the sunlight, and let his eyes adjust to the sun. But there was someone who was far darker than the star in the sky standing in front of him, leaning against the car that he’d left in front of the pub the prior evening. Initially, they said nothing to one another, especially as Finn descended the steps to stand in directly across from her. She pulled off her dark sunglasses and shook her head at his softly, her green eyes taking in his in both amusement and irritation. “You will be the death of me, Fuckduck.” We will always have each other’s back. Finn grinned at his sister, looking truly deranged in the light of the sun. She took a step forward and hugged him -- but not before she punched him in the arm with a mean right hook. “Eventually. But not now.” “No.” She agreed, and shook her head as she pressed it into his chest. “You need to win that championship off of Lex before you can do that, I am afraid.” “That’s the plan, El. That’s the plan.” [FIN] |
