Post by Sheamus on Jul 13, 2010 23:07:56 GMT -5
Suprise, suprise, the scene opens up once again in Ireland. It is quite obvious to the viewer that Sheamus feels most at home, and at peace here. It is where he goes to clear his mind, and to train. There was no better place in all of the world to train, in his mind, than the wilds of Ireland. One could take in the beauty of the surroundings, and find difficult challenges in the land itself. Overcoming things in a gym was quite simple. Overcoming the earth itself, conquering the land, was much more of a task. One had to have the physical and mental fortitude, must have a will stronger than steel. These two things, Sheamus did possess in abundance. He had a huge match ahead of him on Raw. He had purchased his rematch with Randy Orton. He had lost in his debut, and he would get his vengeance, and in his mind he would be wiping the slate clean. To defeat the only person to have beaten him thus far, would clear his mind of it. It ate at him, it burned his soul, boiled his blood. He knew he could beat Orton, and simply made a couple mistakes. He knew exactly how to slay this Viper, and he would execute his strategy to perfection.
It was about midday, the bright Irish sun beating down on his face, drawing beads of sweat. He walked along the bank of a great, flowing river, with white rushing waters. The wind was blowing at a moderate pace, enough to use his sweat to give a cooling effect on his body. He walked down the bank, along a narrow footbath that had worn away the covering of green. The breezy wind was thick with the scent of the waters and the pine trees. He inhaled slowly, enjoying the familiar scents, sending his mind to thoughts of the past. Taking a turn, he walked through the brush, and pulled aside some thin limbed bushes, gazing through the leaves, inside of a clearing. He saw his father, and another man, sitting down on a fallen log. They were sharpening various assortments of blades, particuarly swords, with a cloth and whetstone. He strode forward into the clearing.
Sheamus, me boy! You are roight on time. I have found you a sparring partner, to help train for your match against Orton. As you know, we train in all-
Yes, I know father, all aspects of combat, perfect a warrior, and translate into eachother. You have drilled it into my head countless times.
Very good then...now you will be using two blades today. Reilly here is extremely skilled in the use...and so he should be a good matchup for you. Lord knows I'm gettin' too old for this.
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Sheamus merely nodded, and picked up two fine, swords of steel. He looked to his opponent, garbed in a suit of chainmail, with two longswords, the same as Sheamus, strapped to his hips. Sheamus had a similar outfit, and protective, save for the material. He was only wearing a suit of hardened leather, so that he might move around more freely in combat, and add a bit of mobility to his actions. The man was about the same height as Sheamus, but a few pounds lighter. He would have to watch for a speed in advantage. However, when it came to swordsmanship, there were few who could rival the Celtic Warrior, two blades or one.
They both drew their swords at the signal from Sheamus' father, and began to circle eachother, each taking a few lazy swings, easily parried, to get a measure of eachother, and finding the range. Reilly suddenly plants his feet far apart, a wide stance, and bursts out into motion. Reilly's arms began to work furiously, his swords cutting fast circles, under and over, at his sides. His arms went across his chest, and spun them wildly. He took his right, and went up high, chopping down, parallel to the ground. Sheamus easily parries the cuts and chops. His expression began to sour. His expectations of his father's choice of opponent had been much higher than this. This fighting style was all too familiar to him, having seen it frequently. It was a deceptive, and deceptively simple style of swordsmanship that was more show than skill or substance. A swashbuckler relied on the fear or hesitation of his opponents to give him better opportunies to strike. Sheamus, however, was not affected by the dazzling display, and easily countered the predictable routine, locking swords with the man, and kicking him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards.
The man, smiling, nodded to Sheamus's father, then scrambled back to his feet, approaching in a different manner, changing his stance. Sheamus knew it was all a ruse to throw him off. The man came on furiously, suddenly, and Sheamus reacted with his warrior instincts, the swords clashing together in a ring of metal. Sheamus began to slip into his instincts, letting them take over, and before he knew it he was taking the offensive. He began to turn circles, blades flowing around him fluidly, coming at his opponent like the threading of a screw, every twist and turn bringing the blades at his opponent from different angles and heights. The unconventional routine baffled Reilly, missing more parries than he connected with, but his swift, nimble feet always saved him, keeping him out of harms way. Sheamus stopped turning, and squared up on the man, and the other dropped his swords in frustration, feeling overmatched. He charged Sheamus, tackling him, and the Warrior dropped his swords, recognizing this as a brawl.
As the man fell over Sheamus, he lifted his knee and foot, sending the man tumbling over him. Both men scrambled to their feet, the quicker man scoring with three solid shots to the ribs and one to the jaw, but Sheamus feigned a dazed condition. The man lowered his guard, drawing his arm back far for a knockout punch, but Sheamus quickly thrusts forward with a right fist to the man's nose, laying him low.
Are you done?
Aye...you've beaten me fairly.
Sheamus grins, and looks at his father with a shrug, and merely begins to chuckle. Sheamus walked over, extending his arm to the man, which he took, and was hoisted to his feet. Such was the way among them, kick eachother's arse, then laugh about it. Differences set aside, instead of grudges held. Orton did not deserve that respect though, for Sheamus to just drop the issue of the defeat.[/color]
Very good then, lets go get a few drinks, rounds on me.
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The scene fades as the three pack up the weapons, and head out of the clearing.
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Sheamus had a good time at the local pub. A night full of drinking, dancing, and a bit of flirting with the fair Irish lasses, he sat in his room, on his bed, back against the wall. It was a large bed, to accomodate his great stature and size, and the room was lit by candlelight. Despite his fun filled evening, he was in a sour mood. He had been stewing over the issue of Randy Orton. He knew he could have beaten Orton in his debut, but he did not. He was a Warrior, and a Warrior expected loss, as it was unevitable. You win some, you lose some, hopefully the wins being a greater number than the latter. A Warrior accepts defeat, and moves on, gets stronger, gets better. Sheamus had, but he knew in his heart he should not have lost that match. It bothered him deeply, and he would win this time, he knew exactly what he must do. He would not make the same mistakes. He kept replaying the moment in his mind, over and over. He had watched the match, multiple times. It was so simple, he was kicking himself for it now. He must erase this most painful victory. He could accept if he was defeated outright, and outclassed. This was not the case. He needed to wipe his slate clean, and defeat the only man to have beaten him thus far. Oh how he hated Randy.
But why did he hate him so much? Was it the fact that Sheamus was pinned by him? No, it was not that. Was it the fact he was an arrogant arse? No. He contemplated further, trying to get to the root of the issue. It wasn't because he should have won, because he blamed himself for that. Perhaps it was just his attitude. Maybe it was not even Orton, maybe it was his hatred for the United States, and the American people. Snotty, arrogant fools, who thought they were better than everyone. They were greedy aswell, instead of caring for a community, or their own people, it was all about squashing down the lower class, and filling their own pockets at any cost. In Ireland, sure money was important. However, it was run differently, the attitude was different. Ireland had the mindset of helping the community grow. That, as opposed to the rich getting richer, and the poor getting poorer.
They had no passion or pride in their work, it was all about the fame and money, just like Randy. He was a representation of everything the Americans were all about. America...full of thugs and brutes, stealing what was not theirs, full of crime. There was no honor in anything they did. They fought for all the wrong reasons. In Ireland, men fought for honor, and afterwards, their differences were settled. They could go on and live their lives. Not in America, they were not satisfied until they murdered in cold blood. Cold hearted, just like Orton was. Sure, Sheamus was cold, but he had dignity, respect, honor. Unlike the Viper. The Viper...a snake, a deceitful creature. The Celtic Warrior, fought, toe to toe, with the better man walking out the winner.
They held no respect for anyone, and thats why Sheamus held no respect for them. Years ago, the Irish people went through a great and devastating famine, and came to America for an opportunity, to make a living. They came humble, respectful, willing to put in a hard day's work for a few scraps of food to feed their family. How were they received? With scorn, and shame. There were those that helped, but for the most part, they were looked down upon. For what? Why were they despised? Because they were not from America. They were judged, when they knew them not. They didn't care if it was a good man, with a large heart, a caring individual. They just cared about exploiting them, and squashing them under their boot.
Natives, they called themselves. The Irish, were foreign hordes, supposedly defiling their land. It did not matter the fact that the true natives were not Europeans who moved to this new land and called it their own. Did the true native Americans treat them with scorn? Some of them. Though many treated them with honor and respect. The Indians being an honorable people. Typical Americans...they exploited them, abused them, murdered them, and drove them away into obscurity. Any race that was different, they tried to bring down, and hurt. The Indians, the Africans...and the Irish, and that was the tip of the iceberg. They plagued his people at every turn. The only people that treated Irish immigrants well were the politicians, and that was only for personal gain. All they cared about was their vote, and would give the false pretense of friendliness, so they would gain more power. All they did was oppress the Irish.
And above all else, they were cowards. The American people were cowards. They were weak, pathetic, inferior. The Irish immigrants came, and they instituted a draft. They put the cost of avoiding the draft so high that no immigrant could afford the cost. They were forcing his people into slavery, in essence. They knew the Irish were superior fighters, and so they forced them to join their army. Who cares if they die in battle? Yes, use others to fight their own battles, typical American exploitation. Its all for their cause. They were cowards just like Orton.
When the Irish had enough, they rioted. They stormed the streets, burned every building in sight, to fight back. The rich snobs barricaded themselves in their houses, afraid of what they would do, for good reason. They pushed them too far, and they had no choice but to fight back. They stood up for what was right, and they stood up for what they believed in, much like Sheamus.
Sheamus hated everything about the Americans, for reasons previously stated. He hated Orton, because he was the embodiment of everything he despised about them. To him, Orton was all of the figures of the past, oppressing his people, pushing them down. They never had any respect for them. Sheamus would give Orton a reason for respect. He would make this so called viper, good cause to not only respect Sheamus, but to fear him. He would fight back like the others before him, he would stand up for what he believed was right. To hell with the others and the fans if they didn't agree. A measure of a man is not always making the most popular decision, but of going with the heart. By standing up for beliefs he holds dear to him, and fighting for what he views as good and just. Whether that would bring death, it did not matter. Death comes to us all. It does not matter how you die, what matters, is how you live.
Sheamus would be remembered. His memory and legacy would live on forever. There was no chance he would let Orton obtain the victory here. He would do it for himself, and for the Celtic people, for every living Irish, and every Celt who had ever lived. The victory was not his, the victory would be THEIRS.
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