001. A Church On A Rainy Day
Jan 6, 2018 23:56:05 GMT
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Post by LΞGATO on Jan 6, 2018 23:56:05 GMT
Rain.
Many people found serenity in the phenomnom. For Legato, he found it to be troubling. Nothing good came of rain, in his opinion. Forgetting the prosperity of life that came from the rain, Legato knew that the rain meant something wrong. On the dreary day, where he stood in a chapel, he was the wrong of the world that he believed came with the rainfall. He held a rosary in his hands as he approached the edge of the altar. In his hand, he clutched the handle of his revolver, knowing that nowhere was safe anymore. With a calm sigh, he turned around, seeing a figure standing in the doorway. Lightning struck, making the outline of a man that easily towered over Legato.
As he made his way into the room, Legato pulled the hammer back, which stopped the person in their tracks. They put up their hands to defend themselves passively, but that didn’t stop Legato from standing his ground. He could see the muscles pushing fabric upward, testing its limitations. It was a blessing in itself that the cassock didn’t fall to pieces. As the man made his face known, the scars that lined his face told the story of a man that once did wrong. His place here, wearing the clerical garb, told the second part of his tale.
“Legato,” he said, acknowledging the presence of the gun-toting man, “you have come finally.”
Legato rounded around, drawing his finger up passively to the black eye he bore, “yeah.”
The injury had caught the priest’s attention, “do you need anything for that?”
“No,” Legato paused, before heading for the confessional, “this doesn’t hurt much, not by comparison.”
Opening the door revealed a man inside, holding his head with a heavy groan. Legato rested down next to him, checking his bloody head injury. The man tried to fight back in his delirious state, but Legato didn’t even have to move much to avoid contact. He did pin the man back down to the inside of the confession, which drew a frustrated sigh from the priest.
“Reverend Mathis, he was hunting me down,” Legato explained, idly pressing his finger down on the wound, making the man squirm. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s messing with my rhythm. I thought I was safe out there, so why are these people coming to my doorstep?”
Mathis narrowed his eyes, “you know what’s happening with your family, right?”
“No, I don’t pay attention to that nonsense anymore,” Legato’s words were sharp, but he listened on despite that, “from what you’re telling, it seems that my quiet life is over.”
A grim nod told him the answer he was looking for.
“How troubling.”
Legato got up, shuffling to the door. Once more, he checked his eyes, feeling the familiar sting of his black eye.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything for that?”
Legato stopped, sighing heavily, “no, Reverend, I don’t want anything for this. This is the pain I live with. It’s the pain that makes me remember I’m alive.”
“Corey Bull,” Legato began, rubbing the inside corner of his eye, “you know, this is the match that I wanted from the get-go. While there are plenty of names that I want to take on, the one that I noticed the most was yours. I couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of fighting the Hatebringer. I wanted to test that for myself. I wanted to feel the hatred, you know?”
“Because hatred is a strong power, my friend,” he clenched his fists, feeling his own course through the feeling, “hatred is what drives the world today. Wars are built upon notions of hatred that all humans inherently bear. We’re all made to hate, not love. Love takes time, but a person can hate someone on sight. Hate makes our country thrive, from the rednecks spitting on the African Americans, to the Latinos stabbing their brethren, we’re all organized to hate one another. It’s because we want what others have, and love isn’t going to make us get it.”
“If you love someone, you want the best for them. You want to hold them up on the pedestal that you were originally standing on. They become your deity, your crowning motivation. You won’t care about nothing else but them. Henceforth, you lose your power, you lose what makes you you. You forget to rip that person’s throat out, like a wolf, and believe yourself to be the strongest there fucking is.”
“Hatred runs through my veins, and it does through yours. However, like the different races in the world, you must learn that it’s not the same. Where yours came from the magnitude of events in your life, mine came from generations. My family has waged war on the entire fucking world for eons, since the dawn of man, perhaps.”
“Corey, you know what love is, don’t you?” Legato asked, eyeing the camera strangely.
“Show me what it is, and I’ll show what hate really is. I’ll bring the hatred to your doorstep, and bash your head in with it. I see your walls covered in accolades, I see all that you’ve done, and I see all you want to do here. You want to take my head in your hands and try to crush it like a grape. Is that from your world of hate that you’ve made? Or is it because you’re just trying too hard?”
“I can’t deny that your weight in gold you have taken would crush my bones, but that’s in the realm of men that care about that. Accomplished, you are, but this is a matter of war. A matter of if my outstanding hatred towards everything in the goddamn world will overwhelm your famous ways of violence. My greed towards the precious gold that rests in some douchebag’s office will stand against your resolve, your everlasting legacy of being a monster. I want it to break it down like the shoddy wall that it is.”
Legato squinted, “because legacies only matter to the living. When you, I, and everyone else in the world are dead and buried, the praise won’t matter. If you want, Corey, we can melt the gold down for your casket.”
“I’d consider this a seminar on how to be violent, really,” his words came out in a bit of a slur, “there’s the division dedicated to the raw violence, but our general manager wants to see blood. So I promise you, Corey, there will be blood. Your brand of violence against mine, where I have to overcome a literal giant. Sadly, that’s not a factor to me. Giants are made for people like me to make fall. I’m going to make you fall to your knees and look up at the man, the monster that brought you there.”
“My name is Legato Fulbright, and I’m a hateful man.”
Many people found serenity in the phenomnom. For Legato, he found it to be troubling. Nothing good came of rain, in his opinion. Forgetting the prosperity of life that came from the rain, Legato knew that the rain meant something wrong. On the dreary day, where he stood in a chapel, he was the wrong of the world that he believed came with the rainfall. He held a rosary in his hands as he approached the edge of the altar. In his hand, he clutched the handle of his revolver, knowing that nowhere was safe anymore. With a calm sigh, he turned around, seeing a figure standing in the doorway. Lightning struck, making the outline of a man that easily towered over Legato.
As he made his way into the room, Legato pulled the hammer back, which stopped the person in their tracks. They put up their hands to defend themselves passively, but that didn’t stop Legato from standing his ground. He could see the muscles pushing fabric upward, testing its limitations. It was a blessing in itself that the cassock didn’t fall to pieces. As the man made his face known, the scars that lined his face told the story of a man that once did wrong. His place here, wearing the clerical garb, told the second part of his tale.
“Legato,” he said, acknowledging the presence of the gun-toting man, “you have come finally.”
Legato rounded around, drawing his finger up passively to the black eye he bore, “yeah.”
The injury had caught the priest’s attention, “do you need anything for that?”
“No,” Legato paused, before heading for the confessional, “this doesn’t hurt much, not by comparison.”
Opening the door revealed a man inside, holding his head with a heavy groan. Legato rested down next to him, checking his bloody head injury. The man tried to fight back in his delirious state, but Legato didn’t even have to move much to avoid contact. He did pin the man back down to the inside of the confession, which drew a frustrated sigh from the priest.
“Reverend Mathis, he was hunting me down,” Legato explained, idly pressing his finger down on the wound, making the man squirm. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s messing with my rhythm. I thought I was safe out there, so why are these people coming to my doorstep?”
Mathis narrowed his eyes, “you know what’s happening with your family, right?”
“No, I don’t pay attention to that nonsense anymore,” Legato’s words were sharp, but he listened on despite that, “from what you’re telling, it seems that my quiet life is over.”
A grim nod told him the answer he was looking for.
“How troubling.”
Legato got up, shuffling to the door. Once more, he checked his eyes, feeling the familiar sting of his black eye.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything for that?”
Legato stopped, sighing heavily, “no, Reverend, I don’t want anything for this. This is the pain I live with. It’s the pain that makes me remember I’m alive.”
♦
“Corey Bull,” Legato began, rubbing the inside corner of his eye, “you know, this is the match that I wanted from the get-go. While there are plenty of names that I want to take on, the one that I noticed the most was yours. I couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of fighting the Hatebringer. I wanted to test that for myself. I wanted to feel the hatred, you know?”
“Because hatred is a strong power, my friend,” he clenched his fists, feeling his own course through the feeling, “hatred is what drives the world today. Wars are built upon notions of hatred that all humans inherently bear. We’re all made to hate, not love. Love takes time, but a person can hate someone on sight. Hate makes our country thrive, from the rednecks spitting on the African Americans, to the Latinos stabbing their brethren, we’re all organized to hate one another. It’s because we want what others have, and love isn’t going to make us get it.”
“If you love someone, you want the best for them. You want to hold them up on the pedestal that you were originally standing on. They become your deity, your crowning motivation. You won’t care about nothing else but them. Henceforth, you lose your power, you lose what makes you you. You forget to rip that person’s throat out, like a wolf, and believe yourself to be the strongest there fucking is.”
“Hatred runs through my veins, and it does through yours. However, like the different races in the world, you must learn that it’s not the same. Where yours came from the magnitude of events in your life, mine came from generations. My family has waged war on the entire fucking world for eons, since the dawn of man, perhaps.”
“Corey, you know what love is, don’t you?” Legato asked, eyeing the camera strangely.
“Show me what it is, and I’ll show what hate really is. I’ll bring the hatred to your doorstep, and bash your head in with it. I see your walls covered in accolades, I see all that you’ve done, and I see all you want to do here. You want to take my head in your hands and try to crush it like a grape. Is that from your world of hate that you’ve made? Or is it because you’re just trying too hard?”
“I can’t deny that your weight in gold you have taken would crush my bones, but that’s in the realm of men that care about that. Accomplished, you are, but this is a matter of war. A matter of if my outstanding hatred towards everything in the goddamn world will overwhelm your famous ways of violence. My greed towards the precious gold that rests in some douchebag’s office will stand against your resolve, your everlasting legacy of being a monster. I want it to break it down like the shoddy wall that it is.”
Legato squinted, “because legacies only matter to the living. When you, I, and everyone else in the world are dead and buried, the praise won’t matter. If you want, Corey, we can melt the gold down for your casket.”
“I’d consider this a seminar on how to be violent, really,” his words came out in a bit of a slur, “there’s the division dedicated to the raw violence, but our general manager wants to see blood. So I promise you, Corey, there will be blood. Your brand of violence against mine, where I have to overcome a literal giant. Sadly, that’s not a factor to me. Giants are made for people like me to make fall. I’m going to make you fall to your knees and look up at the man, the monster that brought you there.”
“My name is Legato Fulbright, and I’m a hateful man.”