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Burning From Within, Part II; vs. Hisoka & T-Lo (Vindication Pre-Show)
Topic Started: Aug 15 2012, 01:23 AM (132 Views)
Eric Donavan
Member Avatar
Irish Dragon
[ * ]
(Small color/grammar edit)

"A wisely chosen illustration is almost essential to fasten the truth upon the ordinary mind, and no teacher can afford to neglect this part of his preparation." - Howard Crosby

Darkness greets us from the first moment, inky and complete, almost convincing us that our televisions or computer monitors aren’t even on. It’s the audible sensations that keep us from giving in to that illusion, though. The echoes of shouted epithets, of unbridled violence the like that no human should have to experience first-hand…they ricochet off invisible barriers and remind us of what we were privy to last week. The destruction of a young man physically, emotionally and mentally. Ghosts of those mind-wrenching images flicker in the darkness, hovering for a few moments at a time before fading out. They rise and fall incessantly, the mixture of noise and visuals creating a sensual cacophony that overwhelms us for a few moments.

And then we are spared further torment. The imagery mutes considerably as the sound of footsteps reverberate within the area of the moment. Eric Donavan steps from the darkness as though walking from behind a curtain, his similarly-ghostly image still swathed in a pure white suit, still speaking in a voice that comes from beyond and not from the image of the man himself. A bit clearer this time, his impassive intensity is on display more clearly though even if he were naught but a blur it would come through in his accented tones. The tinged mirth upon the first few bits of his address doesn’t completely invoke good humor, though. There’s trace exasperation there as he looks back and forth at the clips appearing and disappearing around him with disdain as his body language.


Voice of Eric Donavan: ”Silence is golden, they say. Better to keep quiet and have people think you are a fool than to speak up and prove it. Or to quote a favorite tome of mine, the Tao Te Ching, ‘he who knows does not talk, he who talks does not know’.”

Eric’s laughter is soft and even without its echoing quality it is also quite foreboding, almost dark, at its core.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”I have to wonder if Hisoka and T-Lo, my ever-so-reticent opponents at the Vindication pre-show, are living by those words of wisdom. Is that why I’ve heard naught from them up to this point? Or are they merely busy with other endeavors? Perhaps Hisoka is playing around with his butler and pet Neanderthal. Perhaps T-Lo is trying to whore her way into another downtown club. Who can say with any certainty? Certainly not I, for my focus has been on my preparations for the triple threat involving myself and those two which takes place in mere days. How could I be preparing for my first pay-per-view match in NEW by bringing the past to life before the eyes of my opponents and the fans? The answer to that question is very simple.

Multitasking.”

The image’s smile is genuine but short-lived. With a wave of his hand the clips cease to be completely and he levels his cold glare at those watching.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”Make no mistake, you two: I am preparing for this match in every possible way. You will see just how intensely in due time. But for now, despite the umbrage I take with your uncharacteristic silence, there is another lesson that must be taught. Last time you were shown the epitome of perseverance, and now you are to be taught about preparation. You were shown how a person can be put through hell and still find the drive, the willpower, to keep fighting. Now we will take a few steps forward on the same timeline and see how our subject is progressing in his recovery. The seeds have been planted deep within his heart and mind and we shall watch as they bear fruit.”

A sharp snap of Eric’s fingers brings us through a tunnel of multicolored lights moving at high speed before we come to a stop in the physical therapy room of an unnamed medical center. A doctor who much like the other bit players in these scenarios is unknown to us by name is observing the young man, several months removed from the horrid beating he suffered, as he pushes through a series of simple exercises to get his body used to being up and about again. Familiar focus and determination is etched across the young man’s features and those once-soft eyes are hardened considerably. It is difficult to place where we know it from at first…

Doctor: ”Well done, Eric. You’ve made a lot of progress in the last few weeks. Enough that further therapy may not be necessary.”

…and then it all makes sense, how the Irish Dragon came upon such intimate knowledge and perspective of these goings-on. It was because he experienced them directly. The younger Eric finishes the current exercise, taking the last step down the mock staircase and maintaining his footing easily. Faint remnants of wounds from the beating and some wariness of stability was apparent but he forced it aside. Perhaps the thought of not having to go through this three times a week anymore was motivation? Regardless, he stared silently at the doctor long enough that the older man spoke up again.

Doctor: ”Do you feel comfortable enough that you don’t need another session with us here?”

Young Eric: ”Do I have a choice?”

Doctor: ”If you want to go through the last three weeks, you can. Or I can just send you in for one last check-up and we can call it a day.”

A simple white t-shirt and jeans with sneakers comprise the young Eric’s attire here, pieces that honestly look like hand-me-downs. He takes a seat at the small table with the doctor and takes a deep breath.

Young Eric: ”Yeah, let’s just be done with it. It’s one less thing weighing on me.”

The scene stops in its tracks and is remanded to a semi-see-through window to the left of the image of the current Eric who still stands in the darkness. He turns to it and cants his head a bit as he speaks, his tone a bit gentler at this moment.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”I’m sure some of you figured it out already so I’m not going to bother talking fancy about it. However there are undoubtedly going to be some who will call me on bringing up my past when I’ve said previously that I would not do so. I stated that I would not bring up my past in the wrestling business. I’m not an old man looking for any opportunity to wax nostalgic about the good old days just yet. But talking about events that shaped me into the man I am today? That is another matter. Not just a lesson for my opponents present and future but a reminder to myself of why I do what I do. Call me foolish for clinging to the past but before you do ask yourself whether you could let go of these things had they happened to you. Some of you would bury them deep within and end up spending many hours and thousands of dollars on therapy that wouldn’t help you one iota. Some would use it as an excuse to act like oversized children with a license to kill. Some would simply give up and wallow in a black pit of despair.

I’m proud to say that I’m none of the above.

I chose to let what you see before you empower me. I took these overwhelming negatives and turned them into positives. From the near-fatal assault to the love that was stolen from me for a time to being thrust into a situation I was unwilling to accept and unprepared to handle. The more trials that were put before me the more my resolve strengthened.”

Images of the four-on-one physical dissection, the woman sitting in the window and the high-rise office all appear as Eric mentions them, all moments from his previous address. At one time seeming little more than fringe moments or perhaps previews of a future episode, those scenes now have both background and purpose. The same determination etched on his younger self’s visage appears upon the flickering face of his image, obvious even at a distance and distorted. Anotehr snap of his fingers and we’re back to the past at hand. The check-up is done and we see the younger Eric standing on the steps of the hospital, a brown leather bomber jacket worn over the t-shirt and held close to his person as he stares at the cars racing in both directions in front of him past the mass of drone-like pedestrians. He looks out of place in it all and very much lost in contemplation. It takes several calls of his name from a slightly-accented female voice to get him snapped out of that reverie.

Emily: ”Mr. Donavan? Mr. Donavan!”

A blink, a shake of his head…and then the young man turns his attention to the source of the voice which is familiar to us. The same goes for the click of her heels, this time on concrete, and the well-tailored suit obviously adjusted to enhance her natural figure and beauty. Reddish-brown hair is twisted into a sophisticated French braid and a long wool coat protects her from the cool air though glimpses of silk-sheathed legs are still possible, covered in a thin layer of cream-colored material.

Young Eric: ”Er…yes? I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Hands on her hips now, one clutching a leather messenger back, the young lady shoots him an affronted look but can’t help the bright smile that makes her green eyes sparkle.

Emily: ”You’re going to hurt my feelings, aren’t you?! Don’t you remember me? It’s Emily!”

He squints for a moment then breaks into the first smile we’ve seen from him thus far. Descending down the rest of the steps he embraces the young woman who does so right back though not quite as tightly. It is known to her, then, that he is recovering.

Young Eric: ”Oh, my God! What has it been? Ten years? Wow…you look amazing, Em!”

Emily: ”Still a charmer, huh?”

He might be, but she can’t help her smile regardless.

Emily: ”But time enough to catch up later. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

All at once, Eric goes serious and his expression hardens.

Young Eric: ”Em, the last thing on my mind right now is business. I appreciate what Mr. O’Shead did for me while I was laid up but…”

Emily sighs softly and takes a folder out of her bag while Eric is speaking, cutting him off by handing it to him. He takes it with a wary eye and scans it swiftly before looking at her again, his dark eyes narrowing.

Emily: ”Just hear him out, Eric. That’s all we’re asking at this point. If you’ll come with me I already have tickets prepared for us and the plane leaves in three hours. And yes, we’ve gathered some things for you for the trip. No, you don’t have any reason to say no. Or do you?”

The younger Eric tried to interrupt her but she cut him off before he could and by the time she was done, flashing him another smile, he knew he was defeated. Shrugging, he gestured for her to lead the way. From this we cut to the requisite shot of the airport, of a plane soaring into the air and then to a shot of the cabin interior. But this is no commercial jet. This is a private plane and an impressive one at that. Eric has a glass of water in hand while Emily, sitting in a seat across from him with an open laptop running, sips on something steamy from a mug. With his chin resting in his hand, Eric looks lost in thought again as he stares out the window. Emily’s voice brings him out of it again, a tone far gentler than before.

Emily: ”How long since you’ve been back home?”

Young Eric: ”Few years, I guess. Visited a couple years ago but didn’t stay long.”

Emily: ”I see. Well, your family’s home has been tended to every day. You’re welcome to stay there once business is settled with Mr. O’Shea.”

He nods once, absently. Emily takes the hint that he’s not up for talking right now and goes back to her typing while he continues to stare out the window. Back to the darkness we go with the past moments paused and hanging in air while the present Eric addresses us anew.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”That trip home before this one was a short one. The repercussions, however, haunted me for a while after the fact. No need to get into that, though. I knew right away what Emily and Mr. O’Shea wanted: they wanted me to take over my family’s business, a business that had existed in my family for five generations. Seemed that my parents were prepared even before I was able to walk for what might happen if they passed on before their time. They were very meticulous like that.”

He pauses for a moment, smiling to himself, then continues.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”Preparation, Hisoka. Preparation, T-Lo. Backups on top of contingencies on top of fail safes as I like to say. No matter what life or our chosen profession throws at us we must be prepared. It’s as simple as keeping your gear in your carry-on when you travel so that you’re ready to work when you get to the arena even if the airline loses your luggage. Are either of you even in the slightest ready for me? Are you even aware that I exist? Your golden silence indicates otherwise. I honestly have the feeling that I’m talking to air right now and I don’t mind telling you that that fucking irritates me. But such is life, isn’t it? Whatever your reasons are, there’s still time to rectify your mistakes. But will it be enough at this point? Do you think that because I’ve precious little to call either of you on at this point that it will clear your way to verbally take me apart before we even set foot in the ring?

On the spirits of your ancestors I pray that you aren’t foolish enough to believe that. The road to hell is paved with the charred remains of the fools who took me that lightly. They stepped into the ring with a dragon and had to be scraped up before they could be carried away. That’s what disrespect earns you in my world. Perhaps by the end of this tale you’ll understand this lesson, the lesson of pain, a little better. But we’re not quite to that point yet.”

Delving back into the past puts us into the same office we glimpsed last time. The younger Eric is no longer dressed in a shabby fashion. And while the suit he wears is a far cry from the Armani he favors these days, the simple black three-piece for lack of a better term suits him nicely. He enters the office with Emily holding the door though she doesn’t enter herself. The esteemed Mr. O’Shea extends his hand and Eric takes it before sitting. Not one to waste time, the elder gentleman gets down to business.

Mr. O'Shea: ”Pleasure to see you again, Eric. It has been too long. What do you say we get started, hm?”

A single nod sets the executive off on a practiced spiel.

Mr. O'Shea: ”Per your parents’ will, they want you to take over the company. That’s why you’re here. I know you’re not ready for that as surely as you know it and I don’t think I’m off the mark in saying that you’d rather wash your hands of it completely.”

Uncomfortable silence is the only response Eric gives and Mr. O’Shea smiles slightly at that, as though he understands completely. It actually looks a little condescending when one thinks about it too much but Eric doesn’t seem to take it as much.

Mr. O'Shea: ”Out of respect as well as the letter of the law, we cannot simply disregard their wishes. You know that. You know that just as I know that you’re in no mental state to be taking over a company at the age of 18, especially not one that does business across the world and employs several hundred people. You are bright, intelligent and have this business in your blood, in more ways than one, but you are not ready yet. You look surprised; but I assure you that I’m fully aware of what has transpired with you for the past several years. It was your parents’ request that I keep an eye on you from a distance to make sure you were taken care of if the need arose. And as such, here we are.”

He did, in fact, look surprised at all this but as realizations struck his expression went cold and impassive again. He did his best to avoid meeting Mr. O’Shea’s eyes but the more experienced man seemed to will the young Eric’s attention away from the carpet and to him.

Mr. O'Shea: ”You want to look for your lady friend. You want revenge. And you want to find yourself, whatever that may entail. So here is what I propose to you: we will give you the means to attempt to find her and yourself for what that may be worth to you. But revenge is something you’ll have to do on your own so long as it does not conflict with our business. From the same blood that built it or not, I cannot have this company’s reputation stained by negative actions on your part. Clear?”

Young Eric: ”Crystal.”

Mr. O'Shea: ”Excellent. The only caveat to this is that you will continue the studies that were put on hold during your time in the hospital. The degree you were shooting for can only help you when the time comes for you to take over. But we can settle those details once you’ve set your course. Now…where do you intend to start?”

It takes but a second’s thought for Eric to make his choice.

Young Eric: ”Japan.”

The moment is trapped in time as the current Eric materializes on the edge of the desk, arms folded across a broad chest with a slight smile playing about his lips.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”I knew she had gone to Japan but not where within it. You see, after I caused the suicide of David’s father, a man who I looked up to as the same after the passing of my own, he did more than just beat me nearly to death. He took steps to break down every portion of my life from my schooling to my reputation among those we once called friend to weaving a tapestry of lies that drove Aurelei away from me. I was the epitome of persona non grata among many. I could go into more detail about that particular situation here but it has no bearing on what I am teaching the two of you, Hisoka and T-Lo. Suffice to say that I did not find her but I did find my way. Much of what I learned in Japan, from the tenets of Shinto and Taoism to facets of their lifestyle and sense of honor to even a few details that applied to my family’s business…I still practice today.

Long story short, I did more traveling and studying between the ages of eighteen and 20 than most people do in a lifetime. With nothing left for me in the world at that point save my family’s business I split my time between brokering deals for the company on a freelance basis to learn my way in and completing my credits. But I never forgot about revenge. And every spare moment was spent plotting that. Preparation, lady and gentleman…never underestimate it.”

With a simple gesture the images return to darkness, leaving only Eric and the strength of his voice and words.

Voice of Eric Donavan: ”By the age of 20 I was Chairman and CEO of Combat Antiquities Inc., the family business. If you feel the need to know what it is we do, you’re welcome to ask. At this very moment it has no bearing. In the years beyond that much happened. I bought a home in North Carolina and built the Sanctuary, reunited with the lovely lady who is now my wife and took time off from my duties to live more simply for a time. I suppose you could call it making up for a few lost years in my life.

But I never forgot about revenge. And that, friends, is what brings me here.”

And for the first time since these messages began airing, we find ourselves in real time. Eric’s form coalesces into something solid and alive as he stands on the sidewalk outside a well-kept building. Tinted-glass windows offer little in the way of a view into this place but the wording on the door is perfectly legible:

Eastern Fighting Arts Wrestling School
Owner/Head Trainer: Hiashi Shinsuma


Eric looks upon this place with reverence in his eyes and is silent for several moments. Only the quaint, often-absent background noise of a small town is there for our senses until he speaks again. A keen mind will have no trouble putting two and two together here, however.


Eric Donavan: ”And here is where revenge was finally made possible. Where a career in the wrestling business was born and set to flourish. This is the very school where both Aurelei and I trained for our in-ring careers. Call it cliché if you will but by the time the final lesson is taught your silence won’t be by choice.”

Sharp, nearly black eyes turn back to the camera. There’s a fury that Eric’s barely keeping restrained within as he leaves a few last words for his opponents.

Eric Donavan: ”Perseverance and preparation. If you know nothing of this by now it is your own fault for losing yourselves in your dreams and illusions. It means you have wasted this opportunity to gain some insight into the man you will be facing this Sunday. I do not offer such information on a whim but because the two of you have plied your trade here for a time and I am still a neophyte I, out of respect, have given you and the fans this…gift, if you will. Remember it. Treasure it. And then realize that regardless of it, knowing it will bring you no closer to putting an end to my goal of winning our match and ascending to the Submission Match with Nightmare for the British Commonwealth Championship.

Next time, you shall bear witness to a place where wrath is born, thrives, dies and returns all over again…a place where the groundwork for utter brutality and destruction is laid intricately, brick by brick. For the final lesson, that of pain, I shall introduce you all to the Crucible. And what you see there, Hisoka and T-Lo? What you see there is what you will see in the ring this Sunday. A creature of destruction the likes of which only your nightmares could conjure up. The difference is that I am very much real. And the two of you…are very much fucked.

Everything burns.”

Turning on his heel, Eric enters the building and save for the soft swish and click of the door’s closing along with the tinkling of the small bell upon it, we hear nothing else before the scene fades to black.
Edited by Eric Donavan, Aug 15 2012, 01:25 AM.
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