The Winter Wraith
6'1"
188
"Silfur-Refur" by Sólstafir
The Canadian Wilderness
Predator Lock
Call of the Wild
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The Winter Wraith
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13 posts
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VICTORY ROSTER
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Post by Nathaniel Cartwright on Jan 30, 2022 22:59:51 GMT
Magnificence-CD1: Wounded Angel, Bloody Hunter
At first, darkness. Appropriate, all considered, for this was truly a time spent in the depths for all involved. Color, life, sound… it is all brought about via the sound of breaking glass. The source? A drinking cup chucked against the stone-composed wall of the basement beneath the home of Nathaniel Cartwright, his retreat deep in the Canadian woods, many miles from civilization. In an apartment or even in a suburb, the events of the past few weeks would have drawn more than a little attention, including that of local law enforcement. Yet in the middle of nowhere, they wouldn’t even startle a nearby squirrel or deer.
The wanton, violent destruction of objects and souls, perhaps hearts into the bargain, were for Sybil Halter and Nathaniel alone… hurled from the lungs of a woman lost to chaos.
”Are you incapable of fucking listening?! I told you I can’t fucking drink that!”
Whatever “it” was as of that moment was dripping down the wall into the scattered remnants of its former container.
”Take this, too!”
Like an obscene, overloaded frisbee, a plate is sent slicing through the air towards the door just as Nathaniel exits. His physical alacrity narrowly allows him to avoid taking the platter full in the chest or head, though some of its former contents do land on him before he is outside the room. In their habitats, his collection of dangerous critters sense that something is amiss, all of them laying eyes upon Nathaniel as he leans against the door, Sybil’s words reverberating in his head:
Reaching up, his hand alights upon the bandage near his right eye, a result of Melissa’s most recent outburst before this one. That night, she had struck him with her thrown glass. It didn’t hurt that much physically; the blood came from it breaking against his skin. Nothing that would not heal in short order. Emotionally, though…
He remembers some of his responses to Sybil. And where is young Miss Halter tonight? Nathaniel had told her to take some time for herself. She had been with Melissa since her return and Nathaniel could tell it was wearing on the young woman. There had been resistance, but the young man was adamant, assuring her that he could handle things for a few days.
What a fucking idiot.
He didn’t need Melissa to call him that this time, either. Leaning on the door, his hands going through his hair and gripping it tightly, laughing to himself while tears run down his face? Those are the reactions of a madman, or a sane idiot on his way to lunacy.
The scary moment comes when he simply… stops. He lowers his hands after rubbing at his eyes slightly and stares straight ahead. His cell phone is in his hand before the ringtone even emits. He brings the phone to his ear, speaking softly but clearly.
”Wasn’t expectin’ me were ya, Nate?”
The voice of Jacob Wendt, the massive biker-type gentleman who Nathaniel met at Adrenaline prior to his war with Damian Ayla. There is mirth behind it as the big fellow chuckles at his own joke.
”Won’t keep ya long. Only callin’ to let you know there’s another set of fights comin’ up this weekend if you got a mind to attend… or even participate. An’ one other thing.”
”Same as before?”
”No hesitatin’ at all, eh? Yeah… same as before. ‘Cept Canis personally asked me to invite you.”
For a moment, Nathaniel’s expression registers surprise.
”Call me suspicious, but…”
”Nothin’ like that, man. After the two of you kicked the shit outta each other last time, he decided that that was it for him. In his words, that was as close to getting his ass kicked as he cared to get, so he was gonna leave on top. Still takes part in plannin’ things, but he ain’t steppin’ in the cage no more. Guess even though he got the win over you, you still gave him a dose of humility.”
”Huh. How about that.”
”Ain’t like no one’s gonna try an’ tell ‘im he’s wrong. Even retired ain’t no one gonna look at him cross-eyed if they wanna keep their head wound on straight.”
Silently agreeing with the comment, Nathaniel stands silently for a moment before speaking up again.
”And the other thing?”
”Heard your girl came back. Everything cool?”
His expression twitching, Nathaniel looks over his shoulder at the door. A shoulder still dusted with broken glass, the other bearing bits of what would have been Melissa’s dinner, some of which splattered on the side of his face. Heard to him, yet not to Jacob, were the sounds of soft crying. Even if he were not used to the sound, it would still wrench at his soul.
”She had a rough time out there. I’m doing what I can.”
The urge is there, within the pause, to give some pat answer to assuage potential worry. Nathaniel, however, is not one to tell a lie… though sparing emotion is not an issue.
”If you gotta stick around-”
”No, tell him I’ll be there,” Nate assures him, his free hand closing into a fist at his side. ”I got some shit to work out.”
”Good deal. I’ll holler at ya in a day or two.”
The call ends and Nathaniel releases the breath he had been holding. His expression is stoic as he walks out of the dark menagerie, doing his best to ignore the wailing behind the door.
Magnificence-RP1: Prey Abound
“It never troubles the wolf, how many sheep there may be.”
The spotlights flick on with a heavy, metallic noise, as though a comically large and old lever had been pulled. The hum from an old generator is expected, even. The circular glow settles on Nathaniel Cartwright standing in the middle of a wrestling ring. From the looks of the shadows brought up by the existence of light, there are many others in the ring with him… and yet, they stand stock still. Devoid of motion, of life.
The Winter Wraith’s words hang heavy in the air. His hands are in the pockets of his torn, aged black jeans, a chain threaded from a belt loop to the rear pocket. The wolf’s head buckle of his leather belt gleams as though it were a championship and, save for the old dirt clinging to the hard rubber soles, his boots likewise shine. A turtleneck sweater, gray like his mood, clings to his athletic form, the look completed by a black suede leather jacket trimmed in sable. In fact, if it weren’t for whatever he walked through on his way to this place and time, Nathaniel would be more than ready to impress at some downtown watering hole.
But that is the furthest thing from his mind. He takes his hand from his pocket, a brown cigarette finding its way between his fingers while the other hand manifests a match that he lights with a scrap of his thumbnail. A few moments later, he takes that first puff and releases a fragrant plume into the air, taking his time before compounding on his opening comment.
”This is not a time for sparing feelings or worrying about whether what I say or do might hurt someone,” Nathaniel says, speaking quietly and thus forcing those watching to truly focus to hear what he has to say. ”Truly, my well from which I draw my warmth and affability, indeed my very ability to be kind and considerate to my fellow beasts on this cesspool of a planet is quite empty. I don’t have energy to waste in trying to pump others up, giving credit where it is due and offering encouragement to those who I will, in mere days, be baring claw and fang against. This attitude, I know, brings me dangerously close to mixing business and personal, a dangerous thing to do in the wrestling business, but,” he pauses to take another drag from his vice of choice, ”sometimes, one cannot muster the strength to give a fuck. This is one of those times. I am being tried and tested in ways that I could not have imagined possible once upon a time. But as certainly as pain changes a creature, so does love. Funnily enough? Both hurt like hell. They don’t warn you about that when your heart first reaches out to another and starts to sing in time with theirs. Truth told? I would rather go through a half-dozen more deathmatches with Damian Ayla than what I am currently dealing with outside of the ring. And for those of you who have the mental acuity to pay attention around here, you will remember Annihilation and the state I was left in by the time the final bell tolled.”
It took quite a while to fully, properly, heal from those wounds. Yet even now evidence of them would be apparent were Nathaniel’s arm exposed. The faint lines of scar tissue, at least under the harsh spotlights, are clear upon his head. Silently, he takes in another long draw from the cig, the ruby at the tip glowing dangerously yet beautifully.
”Going into this rumble, I don’t care to know half the names of the people I’ll be hunting, and it would not matter if I did care, because it would only serve to complicate things. These days, I crave simplicity, both in personal and professional endeavors.”
He becomes silent again, one of the spotlights breaking away from center ring to follow his path toward one of the shadows… revealing the lot of them as cardboard stand-ups of the other competitors in the match… each and every one of them. The first one he walks up to is Holly Rhodes. Without a word, he touches the tip of his cigarette to her visage, watching as flames slowly grow upon it and eventually reduce it to ash, some remnants flowing up into the air, still with a faint glow.
Nathaniel turns on his heel, moving toward the other side of the ring, to a paper effigy of Brenna Gordon. Another touch, another ignition. TJ Alexander and Chelsea Skye follow, and thus four out of twenty-nine are, in a word, eliminated. Nathaniel takes one last puff from the fading cig before crushing the ruby between his tongue-moistened thumb and forefinger. He flicks the butt away, takes out another and lights it. A fresh drag, a satisfied exhale, and once again the Winter Wraith speaks.
”Four down. If I have beaten you before now, I do not register you as a threat here. Not because you are weak but because you have already been figured out. And as most of you here have proven to be creatures of habit, unable to learn or evolve, you are not worth wasting extra energy on,” Nathaniel barely pauses in his harsh address, the cig hanging out of the corner of his mouth precariously. ”And as to some of the rest, well… even though we have never crossed paths, I have seen all that I need to see. Ineffectiveness, inadequacy, ignorance. The reasons are numerous. Your own faults will see you fly from the ring unceremoniously, sped toward the earth on broken wings, weighed down by your weakness and inability to improve,” he continues as the spotlight follows him to more of the effigies. William Blake Mason, Lewis Chad Pinkston, Sapphire Delgado, Allen Cheney… all given the slightest nudge to send them toppling over, leaving them face-down on the canvas. ”Is Virgil’s meaning sinking in yet? Perhaps the four rendered again unto the earth, and even the four wallowing in mediocrity… perhaps they have a chance that I am looking past. In their own perceptions or that of others, be they fans or the office, such as they are, there might exist a path that would lead them to victory. But the only perspective that I am concerning myself with is my own. And in my eyes, they are the sheep. They are not built for the hunt, much less for the war that this Rumble will be. They are built to take up space, making noise but producing naught. I am built to stalk, attack and destroy, which is what I mean to do in Mexico City.”
The camera stays locked upon Nathaniel, who stands mid-ring, before the scene fades…
Magnificence-CD2: Violence is No Cure
”Shit to work out, huh?”
Sitting at the bar, the same aged, ramshackle establishment that housed the cage fights last time still as jaunty and vibrant around him, Nathaniel nurses a Moose Head while his taped fists still bear blood and dirt all over them. On the whole, he looks more or less fine, yet in the dim light of the establishment… well, who knows what bruises, cuts and more the shadows hide? When he does not respond to Jacob, the bigger man laughs and shakes his head.
”Whatever was eatin’ ya made ya a few grand richer tonight. Folks didn’t forget the hell ya raised last time,” Jacob says with a grin, ordered himself the same brew as Nate with a gesture, ”an’ it damn sure showed! Pretty sure Canis even smiled a little, watchin’ ya work!”
Jacob holds out his beer towards Nathaniel, who finally responds via tapping his own bottle against that of the bigger man. Both take a long swig before Jacob heaves himself onto the creaky stool next to Nate’s.
”On the other hand, there were still those sore from last time, bettin’ against ya. Some people ‘round here hold a grudge, I guess. More fool them.”
”Grudges are a waste of time,” Nathaniel relates quietly, taking another sip from his bottle. ”Time AND energy.”
”Know that from experience, do ya?”
Misha, Jacob’s wife, walks up to the bar and slides a slender arm around her man’s waist. The look she gives Nathaniel is one of admiration, prompting Jacob to look between the two. Her presence gets Nate’s attention, but his response is an understated one; last thing he needs is having Jacob think he’s into his wife. The man was known to lay out guys who looked at her for more than two seconds at a time. Even if he liked Nate, the fighter wasn’t willing to risk it.
Of course, Misha sees this and just shakes her head.
”I’m not going to turn you to stone, dear.”
”No, but Jacob’s hands are made of just that. You’re beautiful, Mrs. Wendt, but not so much so that I want to see your husband picking pieces of my nose out from between his knuckles.”
She blinks a little, sharing a look with Jacob before the two bust out laughing… the loud, belly-based sort of laugh that has everyone turning to find the source. Nathaniel smiles a little, but carefully keeps his eyes on his beer.
”See, that’s why I like you, Nate. Loyalty and respect.”
”And self-preservation. Honestly, though… I think my Jacob here is starting to buy his own hype a little too much!”
Giving his lady a squeeze with his own massive arm, Jacob grins.
”Just ‘cause I got ya ain’t no reason to stop doin’ what I did to earn ya in the first place!”
Those words have Nathaniel glancing over again, looking at the couple next to him. In that moment, they only had eyes for one another, but Jacob’s comment reverberated in his head. Then he’s staring at his beer again, and it takes a firm nudge from Misha to his shoulder, after stealing a sip of brew from Jacob’s bottle, to get Nate back to reality.
”...I asked how your lady is, Nate. Jacob told me she came back.”
”I brought her back,” Nathaniel responds quietly, considering his words before continuing. ”She isn’t well, though. Withdrawal, anger, pain… she's recovering bit by bit, but...”
He reaches up and peels the bandage off his temple, showing the cut marks from the thrown glass. Jacob whistles low and takes another drink while Misha, not shy in the slightest, runs a fingertip lightly over the wound.
”Sybil tells me to give her time, to be patient and understanding, to realize that this will pass.”
”And how do YOU feel?”
Nathaniel turns and looks her right in the eye. Misha, perhaps unused to that penetrating stare, actually leans back just a bit. Jacob notices, then sees the look in Nate’s eyes and says nothing.
”I’m afraid to.”
Having no response for this, Jacob and Misha watch as Nathaniel gets up from his seat, leaving a $100 bill on the counter. He nods a good-bye to the pair and turns to go, finding himself eyes-to-nipples, figuratively speaking, with Canis. Think of every over-the-top, scarred and wicked-looking bruiser you’ve ever seen stomping ass in some 80s action flick and you’ve basically got an idea of what Canis looks like, the aura he possesses.
Dalton himself would think twice before trying to toss this fucker.
”Canis.”
Nate is no small man, though admittedly average in height. Canis had a good half-foot on him. Staring down at the warrior who prompted him to finally hang up the ol’ fists, one would have expected chaos and violence to ensue, invitation be damned. Instead, Canis holds up a scarred fist and extends it toward Nathaniel, who bumps it with his own.
”I made the right choice,” the man says gruffly, his smile more like a grimace. ”Any time you wanna fight here, you say the word.”
”Appreciate that, boss.”
Nodding to Nathaniel, Canis turns to Jacob and Misha, who lift their drinks in his direction. He nods to them as well, then turns and stalks off, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. Nathaniel, looking after him, then turns to Misha.
”How does the new ink look?”
”Amazing! We’d like you to do a matching pair for us, in fact!”
Faintly smiling, Nathaniel nods.
”Soon as I’m back from Mexico, then.”
Taking his leave, Nathaniel steps out into the night air… and no sooner does he clear the steps than does his phone ring. Curious, Nathaniel looks at the screen, tenses, then accepts the call.
”...come home.”
”I’m… actually on my way now,” Nathaniel responds softly, hearing Melissa’s voice at such a gentle level being enough to change his tone in a hurry. ”Can I bring you anything back? Food or drink? Medicine of some kind? Just… just say the word.”
”No… I just don’t want to be alone. That’s all.”
”All right. I’ll be there in about 45 minutes.”
She quietly hangs up and Nathaniel starts to dial a new number as he walks toward his Jeep, his expression stoic once more.
”Vee, it’s Nate. I need a favor. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Fade out.
Magnificence-RP2: No Need at All
“The wolf on the hill is not as hungry as the wolf climbing the hill.”
Another quote, offered as Nate stands with his back to the camera, still in that ring laded with paper images of the rest of the Olla-Rumble Invitational participants. Four of them are little more than piles of burnt paper, some still smoldering, while four others are strewn about the floor beyond the ring. Eight down, 21 to go. And all that remain are turned to ‘stare’ at the Winter Wraith.
”I have observed in my short time in the business that some wrestlers are far more effective when they are in pursuit of a title or goal than when they have achieved it. And before some smart-ass asks, yes, Damian Ayla is an exception,” Nathaniel’s tone is a snapping one, not at having to give Damian credit, but at imagining someone’s snarky retort to his statement. ”The point is clear, however; where is the drive and the fuel for the fury when one is at the top of the mountain? When you have slain all who seek to usurp your position, what then? You sit and you wait. Complacency sets in. The predator becomes prey, not realizing it until those they once laid low with ease are already nipping at their heels. The forces of the hungry are marshaled and suddenly they who were once the apex predator are just a meal for the next hunter on their way up,” he continues, smirking slightly, pausing to savor another brown cigarette as his message sinks in. Snapping though his tone remains, it is still quiet, commanding close attention. ”What, then, is the prize here that will push myself and the sturdiest of my prey to finish at the pinnacle? A championship opportunity and a few… unnamed prizes. Par for the course. However, having come so close to shining glory myself once upon a time, I find a little extra motivation to feast on you lot. Funny how that works out. Championships once upon a time didn’t mean that much to me. Now? I find myself a bit… covetous. Though there is one person that I feel obligated to mention by name.”
Weaving his way through the cut-outs, Nathaniel finds his way toward the one of Sybil Halter. He looks upon the effigy with calm focus, though when he speaks, he’s gazing at the camera.
”I owe you more than words can say, Sybil, and thus when it comes to this match you shall know from the start that any violence which comes about between us shall only be as much as is necessary. Let others make of that what they will.”
Easily lifting the cut-out of his friend, Nathaniel lies it gently atop the turnbuckles, out of harm’s way, as it were. And now, twenty remain.
”I said before that I did not care to know your names,” Nathaniel comments, weaving his way through the others, glancing at and sometimes looking as if he is actually speaking to them, ”and I hold to that. I DO know them, however. You may be nothing more than sheep to me, but I am a creature of habit and will study anything placed before me in preparation to bring it down… extraneous as the information may turn out to be,” Nathaniel continues, stopping before one of the larger pieces; each one having been cut to scale. The first, in fact, towers over him a bit. ”Vincent Black, large and unfocused, he begins, going to each in turn with unerring accuracy. ”Adrien Cochrane, talented yet lacking killer instinct. Max Daemon, laden with potential yet uncertain…”
Nathaniel is starting to amuse himself just a bit, going through the stand-ups and offering blurbs about the people they represent. It doesn’t feel like the Nathaniel that we are used to seeing, for some reason…
” Caity Dawson-Cruz, determined yet unpolished. Nathaniel Dixon,” he pauses, amused again briefly by the matching names, ”intelligent but arrogant. Emmanuelle, too enamored of herself. Scott Hampton, a hunter’s instinct but lacking the intensity. Dylan Howell, dangerously unpredictable. Jensen Kidd, cute but far from intimidating. Patti Larceny, a bouncy brat and little else. Aaliyah Landerson, far too innocent for her own safety,” Nathaniel pauses again, if only to flick a few ashes from his cig and shake his head, perhaps feeling that this is little more than drudgery. ”Victoria Lyons… no, you know what? This is a waste of time. Saying your names alone is apt to give you overinflated self-importance and why make this more difficult than it has to be? Most of you don’t even have the gumption to stay and fight beyond fleeting moments like these.”
The amusement has run its course, the outburst and refusal to give the rest of his opponents the time of day coming rather suddenly. His words cutting even soft-spoken as they are, Nathaniel brushes through the crowd to come before the camera once again, staring directly into it.
”There is no need for me to name those who are to fall. Let those who deal with what’s left have that chore. In Mexico City, all of you but one are the same: food. Sustenance for the strong. A brief respite on the way to the top of that mountain. Look up at the end and you shall find me, nipping at the heels of the champion once again, having learned from my errors and seeing again to take what is his and make it my own. That is the destiny I have chosen for myself and I will not be denied… no matter how much the sheep will it to be otherwise.”
One by one, the lights go out until there is a single circle remaining, shining down on Nathaniel. He turns on his heel and leaves the ring, the light going out, bringing darkness upon the ruined remains of his ‘opponents’ in and out of the ring.
Magnificence-CD: Almost What Was
Having returned home, Nathaniel doffs his coat and tosses it over the back of the couch. Gathering two bottles of water from the fridge, he makes his way to the basement, closing the door quietly behind him. Down the steps he goes, past the laundry and storage areas and into his menagerie. The lit containers bearing his pets are as he left them, some lazily looking toward him while others slumber. But his focus is on the door directly across the way.
Letting himself in, the room has been tidied a little bit, he notices. Not much, as there is only so much that could be done, but the mess is cleared away, the shards of dinner and what had borne it put carefully to the side. The cell phone lay upon the carpet and the tell-tale pile of blankets, upon the occupant hearing the door, slowly shuffles aside. Melissa pokes her head out a bit, blinking in the sudden, dim light. Nathaniel shuts the door behind him, returning her tired gaze.
There is nothing to be said, though. He comes over to the sofa upon which she lays and sits, wishing to be by her side but not to crowd her. He places the bottles within reach and just… sits. Hoping his presence is satisfactory. Melissa looks to the water, to the door, to Nate… and clutches the blankets around herself. After several moments, though, she surreptitiously wends her way over to Nate. Before she can lower her head, he has a pillow there for her, as if predicting her need. She hesitates, then lies down as intended. Tension shoots through her when his hand comes down, fingers nestling in her brown hair, but she forces it down and closes her eyes. Her breathing levels and proper sleep takes her.
And Nathaniel? He remains, a faint bit of peace washing over him.
Fade out. |
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