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The Black Gael

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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Mon Nov 06, 2017 4:32 pm

The Black Gael sits alone in the locker room, one two, three empty bottles surrounding him, his words vaguely slurred, his eyes more red than white.


Papa!

Did you see? Did you see?

Papa...do you even care?

You've done this to me. You've made those questions hound me and haunt me.

Why won't they let me sleep? I tried counting sheep. I tried counting backwards from one hundred. If tried to count my flaws but it never worked! Only one thing ever helped, but it numbed everything else in the process. You told me the stories of Gael, warned me to be careful, but you were a hypocrite. You were the bad man, weren't you? That's what ma always said anyway until you made her....go away.

It's okay, papa. Because I did. I fought and I won. I won and I felt alive. I felt alive and I celebrated. I celebrated and I don't know how I got back here. It's a cycle that I can't beat. A cycle that being in CMV only parallels. I fight and I drink. I drink and I fight. It's consistency. It's a new normal. As long as I wear the paint Gael cannot punish me for my transgressions. When we finally meet I will bow down. I will kneel and I will apologize and beg forgiveness. But I'm not brave enough yet. And I don't know how to get there.

You never had answers for the questions I had, papa, and now I know nothing. Now I am nothing but a vessel for pain and agony and regret and heartbreak that refuses to do one good thing and just. stop. breathing. Until then I've been forced to carry on. Each step gets harder, but if I stand still too long, Gael may catch up.

And so I run and and I dive headfirst into the next conflict. Will you watch and see, papa? I get another chance tonight. Me and Brandon locked in a battle for the right to survive once again. They say he's special, papa. A champion. The gold glitters and whispers my name. I hear it. It wants to be with me. I tell it soon. I tell it Brandon is a broken man that doesn't deserve her. It will know true love soon enough.



The Black Gael continues to speak but his words become unintelligible. He takes a long pull from his flask followed by a deep breath. His next words come out in a barely audible whisper.


Brandon, be careful.



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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Mr. Dashing on Mon Nov 06, 2017 9:21 pm

Super interested as to why he calls all of his opponents Brandon and I hope to find out soon, very intruiging story that you're building around this chatacter.

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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Tue Nov 14, 2017 4:50 pm

The Black Gael sits crossed legged in the middle of the hallway, rocking back and forth as he grips a metal flask tightly in one hand, the other cradling the back of his neck. Coming off of a thrilling victory over then Rising Star Champion Miles Kelly, a match where the springboard forearm he calls Blackout wasn't able to get the job done forcing him to use the devastating reverse package powerbomb Sobering Ride Down the Stormy Whiskey River to keep his foe down for the three count.

It was a victory that came at a cost.

Gael's words come out in a hurried, hoarse whisper.



Everything...

It's all gone...

Papa, I gave everything to stand victorious and this drink refuses to be the glue that keeps the pieces together. All it does is make the pain go away for a little while. But tonight I need the pain!

I need the reminder.

I need to remember all that I lost to win.

When my body cried out no more...when my muscles started to stiffen...when my joints refused to bend...when my brain started to fog...

When it looked like I would meet my demise, Gael pulled me from the jaws of defeat, and told me to use it...the weapon that I swore I'd only wield in desperate times because I'd hurt myself just as much as the other man.

But I had to. The gold, papa, it shone and it spoke and it called my name. I need it. It needs me. We'll be complete once we have each other.

Time is all I need. But time is a luxury I can't afford. I spent all I had on a vice that threatens to destroy me if I walk away.

Destruction awaits either way.

Tonight I will pay for my transgressions.

Last week I gave everything to make victory mine, and tonight I have no more blood to bleed.

I know Brandon, conniving and malicious, awaits to feed on the scraps that remain.

May he have mercy.

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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Mon Nov 20, 2017 9:21 am

Black Gael, freshly returned to Reality Wrestling after an unsuccessful outing on Genesis, has palms pressed against a locker, back turned to the camera.


Papa forgive me!

It was all too new!

The lights! The sounds! The smells!

I forgot who I was. And I don't know how I got there. Everything I am. Everything I should be.

All out of the window.

I tried to imitate. I tried to be myself. Everything failed.

I was so scared.

I am so ashamed.

And here...right here in my lowest moments I crave release from the demons. I pray for relief for the mental anguished as they weigh on me like a million cinder blocks. I almost want to wipe this paint off.

I would down my last bottle of whiskey as the sun watches in disapproval and dare Gael to try and take me away once and for all.

But you told me, Papa. It was all in the stories. You said how those who met Gael either never returned or never was the same. I'm not special. I would be no different.

I'm too scared to cross that line.

All I can do now is press forward because all that lies behind is the dark past that I can shake. But I look forward, and I see Brandon waiting tonight.

Waiting to make a feast out of the scraps.

And if I stand still I'll never find a normal that isn't this.

So I have to fight.

I have to fight because I must survive.

Survival means that I'll find redemption while I draw breath.

I'll do what I can, papa...what I have to.

Even if Brandon suffers.




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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Thu Dec 07, 2017 7:49 pm

The Black Gael can be found backstage on his knees breathing heavily, palms of both hands planted firmly on the ground as though desperately trying to prevent himself from falling through it. Gael is drenched in sweat to the point that it has soaked through his headgear, odd because as cliché as the saying may be, he just about that match against Johnny Vegas without breaking a sweat.

Gael roughly pushes himself off the ground positioning himself so that he's sitting on his heels. His chest rises and falls erratically with each jagged breath that he has to force through his lungs. His eyes are red, wet streaks visible on his cheeks, only one boot on.

The only thing that's in tact is the body paint.

Gael gasps as air hitches in his throat. With a shaky right hand he pulls a bottle off the ground and takes a long pull from it before tossing it to join its siblings, the poisonous sextuplets. the liquid does nothing to soothe Gael's nerves. If anything, it bothers him more. His gasps are more audible and he behinds rocking back and forth while still kneeling.

He loses his balance and falls forward coming back to the position he was in minutes ago, hands pressed against the ground, straining to keep his head from colliding with the concrete or one of the glass bottles that lies on it. Gael clenches his right fist and punches the floor just hard enough for the pain to get his adrenaline going in the same way you'd jump start a car's dead battery.

In the blink of an eye, Gael pops up to his feet and looks around at the hallway. Empty. He's alone. He's always been alone. He starts pacing back and forth, jaw tight, curled fingers attached to rigid arms. But the burst of energy doesn't last. He stumbles toward the wall and drops to a knee pressing a hand against the wall.



Papa, they tried to change.

They.....they tried to break me...

No rules, they said. They told me that I could do anything. Buts that's not fair, Papa. I need rules. I need them. I was so worried that I wouldn't be the same; now I'm scared that I'll never change. Weapons were there for me to use, but I couldn't. The only other weapon that I've ever wielded carries the toxins that poison me everyday.

I didn't want to hurt another man, papa, not Brandon, but it's so tempting. It could be so easy to let go and break someone until they can't be fixed, then they'll know what it's like to wake up and see this face staring back at how. They'll know how the lies and the pointing, it all hurts.

I am not am animal! Like fighters in the coliseum shedding blood for the entertainment of the masses. I don't deserve that! Why did they try! Papa I just...I just...

If it's so bad today, how much worse will it be tomorrow? How much farther will they try to push? How many more will have to die before they are content? Why does the answer scare me so. I almost...I almost wish Gael would come, take me away so that these thoughts, both real and imagined, will no longer plague me.

Where is he, Papa? In the stories he was omnipresent. He was everywhere. He knew everything. He was always there take away the monsters who didn't adhere to their limits. Where is he Papa? What is he waiting for? I know it's the paint, the paint is what keeps him at bay, but he could at least try. Then at least I'd know he's watching.

I was so stupid. I've past the point of no return because fear won't let me walk backward. Like the ribbon tied around the rebellious neck, I've used the paint to protect me and now it's become a permanent part of me. Sometimes I forget what my real face looks like underneath, and sometimes I feel likes it's best that I never remember.



Gael tries to stand, and it's a struggle, but he manages to make it. Only for a few seconds. He leans his back against the wall, eyes locked to the ground, breaths coming in at a slightly more even pace as if speaking were a form of therapy for him. But he doesn't say another word, only his breathing fills the void left by his silence. He runs both hands


What about tomorrow, Papa?

What angle will they take?

How badly will I be punished for not breaking their rules?

Why does they feed off violence? Why do they thirst for blood?

Why does a part of me look forward to the next time? I'm so afraid that I'll like it.

Tonight I fought back, I wanted Brandon to live another day, but I won't have that kind of strength forever.

I've spent too much energy quieting the singing of the gold as it calls to me. It promises to make me whole, and I want to believe so bad that it would never lie. My very first match here I got a taste, I saw what it could do. I saw how the gold shines and changes the way people look at you. I think it could fix me, but I need to get closer so that I know for sure. I have to try. I have to try. I have to, I have no other choice. I will go through Brandon if I have to.

Do they not trust me?

Are they afraid of me?



He lets the question linger in the air and silence fills the halls once again. With his back still against the wall, he begins sliding down until he's sitting on the ground. His voice cracked as he asked it, and he can't find it in himself to continue. He buries his face into his hands and sighs deeply.


Are they ashamed of me?


The screen fades to black as Gael reaches for his flask.




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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Mon Jan 22, 2018 3:13 pm

A situation has unfolded backstage on Fusion.

It's causing a grand ol' confusion, as wrestlers, staff and the odd straggler rusg over to see what all the hubbub is about.

And, boy, is it a doozy.

The Black Gael has wandered over to Fusion, on his hands and knees in the middle of the hallway completely hysterical, beyond the point of being reasoned with and calmed down. He's still in his ring attires from the pay per view, his eyes red, tears smudging his face paint, his chest reddened from him seemingly aggressively rubbing away the body paint that was once there.



I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready.



He repeats it over and over and over again as though it were a mantra, or part of some kind of ritual or a prayer that's fallen on deaf ears as he continues to repeat it despite his voice fading from the strain. He pushes himself up until he is only on his knees. He reaches for the empty bottle of beer he must have brought into the building with him, holding onto it like a child might a blanket, as if searching for comfort.


I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready for the disappointment. I was a afraid, Papa! What if the gold didn't save me? What if there's nothing that can save me? What if there's nothing that makes the pain go away? Brandon save me.



He growls, a guttural, almost animalistic sound that causes the bystanders to take a step back, and they weren't even standing that close to him to begin with. Gael breathes in and out, but if that's supposed to be a tactic to calm himself that it isn't working.


Maybe it's not the pain that needs to go. Maybe it's me.

Gael take me. Papa told me that these words would summon you.



He begins whispering a poem.


As poison flows through my veins
Revealing all hidden by the veil
An admission nothing of value remains
I call...



Gael shakes his head.


No!


He crushes the bottle in his hands, pressing glass deep into his palm, he doesn't cry out. He doesn't even flinch. He uses his now bloody palm to draw a "G" on himself then sighs as if relived.

As if safe.



Not now.

Not yet.



He forces himself off the ground and begins to walk away, the crowd parting to give him room.


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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Fri Feb 02, 2018 12:57 pm

The Black Gael is spotted in a hallway backstage, face covered in paint, a "G" hasitly drawn on his chest, hopefully not in blood this time around. He's pacing back and forth, and who knows how long he's been like this?

Who knows where he's been all this time?

Who knows if he'll ever be close to okay?



Papa!

They mock me.

I said I wasn't ready.

I said I was scared that the gold wouldn't make me whole, but I find myself right back where I started no matter how far and how fast I tried to run.

And now I have nowhere left to run. I have nowhere left to hide. They've found me again and they vowed to punish me for my transgressions.

They see me barely staying afloat and so they take my head and push me under until I stop struggling.

But I can't, Papa.

I can't stop struggling.

I can't stop living...even though sometimes that's all I ever want. No matter how much I try to numb to pain it always comes back worse than it was before. The doubts cripple me, the voices paralyze me and sometimes I don't know how I ever manage to take the next step.

Yet I do.

And then before I know it, I'm walking.

Then I'm running.

Then I take to the skies and before I know it: I'm free.

But it never lasts long enough. When I black out and I'm blessed by purgatory, Brandon is never there when I wake up.

He mocks me.

He hates me.

He watches me suffer from a distance, and he never offers a helping hand.

Just like you, Papa.

Just like...EVERYONE!

THEY ALL STARE!

THEY POINT!

THEY LAUGH!

THEY JUDGE!












they think they're safe, and that's not fair.

IT'S NOT RIGHT!

WHY AM I CHOSEN TO SUFFER?

WHY AM I THE ONE DESTINED TO DROWN?

WHY

WHY

WHY

why.....

I see Brandon in every one I look at, and this one calls himself a demon.

But I believe in monsters.

And Gael is the only monster I fear.



He touches the G on his chest with trembling fingers.


But I'm safe...we're all safe from him...for now.


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Re: The Black Gael

Post by PREDICTION KING on Fri Feb 02, 2018 3:48 pm

You've made it. 100/10.

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Re: The Black Gael

Post by Red Chocolate on Fri Feb 02, 2018 4:45 pm

Thanks! Means a lot coming from you

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