PROMO: "The Art of War."

[Guest Kibagami]

PROMO: “The Art of War.”

 

Chaos is born from order.

Cowardice is born from bravery.

Weakness is born from strength.

 

Order and chaos are a matter of counting.

Bravery and cowardice are a matter of shih.

Strength and weakness

Are but a matter of form.

 

-Chapter Five of the Sun-Tzu

 

The lights shine down bright and glaring upon them, like angels in Heaven, watching in a solemn and holy silence as the two gladiators hurl their innermost reserves at one another one last time. Both are reeling, both on their last legs- but both refuse to quit. The desire to please, to amaze, to continue the show; this runs deeper than the pain and the screaming of their bodies for release from their labors.

 

The ring is heavily miked tonight; the promoters want every scream and grunt to echo through the third-rate bingo hall they’re performing for. It doesn’t matter, really. Every title defense is just as important as the one before it, just as devastating as the one after it. Their fame is not won through flashy entrances, their fans are not impressed by their outfits or their catchphrases. The only thing that earns them any money, any fame, any respect, is the blood, sweat, and tears their fans and their colleagues have come to expect.

 

After all, they are the best for a reason.

 

Jimmy is bleeding from the mouth, the product of an rather well-targeted superkick on his part. It’s all part of the show to him, however; when he got like this, he never seemed to notice the pain. He’s seen other, lesser men have to stop the match because of things like this, but not Jimmy. He took it in stride and was still going strong ten minutes later. What a consummate showman. Jimmy had broken a bat that he had stashed under the ring before the show over his head, apparently to keep things fair, and he was still wiping the blood from his left eye. Damn splinters. He’d get him back, eventually.

 

It probably has something to do with her being ringside tonight. He tries very hard not to look at her as he and Jimmy exchange a brutal set of knife-edge chops, but he does manage to keep her in his peripheral vision. She looks radiant tonight, as always. She had talked Jimmy into taking the both of them out to dinner after the show, to celebrate the consummation of their best-of-seven series. At dinner…they’d have to talk.

 

He was sure Jimmy would understand, given time.

 

He reeled back against the ropes after one final chop, caught a glimpse of Jimmy out of the corner of his eye snatch one of the chairs from the canvas. He gets his hands up just in time to keep the blow from completely compressing his spine. He heard the gasps from the crowd as he fell to the mat, heard her lilting voice above the crowd. He knew how she hated to see them both fighting each other. She better get used to it; there might be a little more of this before the night was over.

 

Outside of the ring, they are the best of friends. Nobody has ever been closer to one than the other, with the obvious exception of Jimmy’s fiance. They had known each other for years; they fought from instinct, not any sort of personal malice. Each of them had something to prove. Jimmy had to prove himself to the fans, night after night after night. Everything was a show to him, everything was a stage designed to further his ambition.

 

What was he fighting for?

 

Right now…because it is all he has.

 

But that could change, couldn’t it?

 

The boos of the fans are uniform through the bleachers, save for one fan towards the back who yells, “JACK HIM UP, JIMMY!” as Jimmy signals for his finisher. He does deserve the title, after all the work he’s put into this show. It almost felt like he owned it to Jimmy, after bringing him in, setting him up with the promoter, arranging this angle…and everything else…

 

No matter. Jimmy hauls him to a kneeling position, hooks his arms and lifts him, spins toward the center of the ring…and out of the corner of his mouth, out of view of most of the fans, he whispers, “Never try and trick the trickster, you greedy, thankless son-of-a-bitch.”

 

His blood runs cold.

 

He knows.

 

Somehow, despite all his precautions, he knows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just before impact, he thinks,

 

“Wait…the angle for this isn't…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silent wakes, a sharp intake of breath the only outward sign of his distress. He waits for a moment, regulating his breathing, calming himself as Nekura taught him to, so long ago, before rolling out of bed. He slips on a pair of black warm-up pants in one fluid motion, stands, and walks out into the living room.

 

The entire apartment is white. The walls, the carpet, the furniture. Everything is white. Clean. Pure. This has been his sanctuary, his outer interpetation of his inner self, for the last four and a half years. It has kept him sane. It has kept him safe, on more than one occasion. And its peace, its tranquility…had kept the nightmares at bay.

 

Before tonight.

 

In the living room, there is a single white table in the center of the room. A block of incense sits next to a stainless-steel white cigarette lighter and an unlabeled, well-worn white book. Silent carefully lights the incense and opens the book to one particular dog-eared page…

 

Chaos is born from order.

Cowardice is born from bravery.

Weakness is born from strength.

 

Order and chaos are a matter of counting.

Bravery and cowardice are a matter of shih.

Strength and weakness

Are but a matter of form.

 

There is wisdom there, he thinks. Everything is a matter of form. Strength and weakness. Day and night. Dark and light.

 

Good and evil. Yes.

 

To calm his mind, he does a few push-ups. One-armed, knuckles down. Two hundred on each arm. His father taught him that, in the few brief months they had been able to spend together. He would have to show Thoth, one day, after all of this was over. He was certain the Balancer had not heeded his warning, was on a collision course with Nekura’s vaunted timetable at Ground Zero. Chances are the debt still needed to be paid.

 

He would go to Alexandria tomorrow. After Ground Zero, when Spider was no longer mentally occupied, he would confront him about Tokyo. While the Leper might not understand immediately the import of his words, he would, sooner rather than later. He would need help if…if the show was to go on.

 

He showered, snuffed out the incense, returned to his room. There was a message on his phone; Nekura needed to see him for some reason or other. Normally, at three in the morning, a summons from Nekura took priority over everything else, sleep included…

 

But not tonight.

 

Tonight…there are more important things to be done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Strength and weakness.

 

Day and night.

 

Darkness and light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good and evil.

 

All are questions of form.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Retribution is on the way...

 

END PROMO

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

That was creepy....hopefully now that Silent's in the WF, we'll start to get some good concrete answers to what happened in teh past, and what's gonna happen in the future.

[Guest Renegade]

Nice work Silent, as always. Time to see where this will lead to.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

We've been making an effort to be extra blatant, but I guess if you miss one promo, you miss a bunch. Less subtle dropping of hints to come in the future, I suppose.

 

This edit of this promo is perfect for the time, Silent. Super.

[Guest AnnieEclectic]

Damn you and your promos that leave you hanging and wanting more but you dont get any because the show isnt up and you aren't promoing until then and then we have to wait with baited breath on hands and knees and hips if you're double jointed or eyelids if youre quintuple jointed and just sitting there laughing at us look all hopeless and wanting for more Silent promoage and just tormenting us with the knowledge that we know that you know that we know that you know how the story ends.

 

Damn you.

 

-Annie

[Guest Kibagami]

Um...yeah. That's...what...I...meant...to do?

 

S.