Post by pan on Jan 14, 2024 10:59:20 GMT -5
OOC: Trigger warning, this RP briefly deals with the sexual abuse of minors. Reader discretion and all that.
Pan’s emerald eyes glowed, catlike, against the pitch of night. Holding Luis to him close, he brought his lips up to Luis’ ear and whispered “goodnight”, sending a pleased little thrill down Luis’ spine. He didn’t think it possible, but even with the short amount of time they knew each other, Luis already felt that there was nowhere safer than Pan’s arms. The boy was like a drug that always left him wanting. Wanting for more love, more closeness, more sex, more moments just like this where the demons of Luis’ past, the ones that came out at night, simply ceased to be.
But all good things must end. Luis felt the inky blackness of sleep creeping in at the edges, and before long he succumbed to it. And the demons reigned supreme again.
As waking turned to dreaming, Luis found himself falling…falling…and eventually submerged in icy waters. He fought to break the crest of the lapping waves, to breathe that fulfilling air again. Struggling mightily against the pull of the eddys that swirled about his feet, Luis eventually broke free, his head breaking the surface tension of the water. His breaths came in greedy gasps even as the cool night air bit his sodden face. He looked all about him, and saw nothing but an expanse of water in all directions. Starting to panic, he shouted out for help. But there was no answer. At first.
But then, as if by some sorcery, a prodigious light shined upon him. He looked up and where there was simply nothing before there was now a lighthouse, its beam surrounding him in its merciful glow. Luis was bathed in the light, and it grew brighter and brighter until he became aware he was somewhere else.
Somewhere dry, thankfully. But something seemed off too. Luis looked down at his legs that were safely ensconced in the ratty Power Rangers themed blanket. They were a few sizes too small for him, but just right for the six year old he was once again. Taking in his surroundings, he recognized his childhood bedroom, what little there was of it. The window with the jagged crack like lightning. The garbage bag of clothes in the corner for want of a dresser. The dark closet, where the monsters were supposed to dwell. But they didn’t live there. No. They lived just outside his door. In the living room, where his mother surrendered to the siren’s call of heroin and her boyfriend of the week drank himself into a stupor.
His name was Buster.
Oh no.
Luis sank beneath the covers and started to pray. He didn’t even know any prayers so he made them up as he went along, hoping God would take pity on him and approve anyway. But God must not have approved of his clumsy attempts, or else he wouldn’t have allowed Buster into the room. Wouldn’t have allowed Buster to sit on the edge of the bed. Wouldn’t have allowed that beer laden breath to speak those words.
Why you got long hair like a girl? You a girl? ….does something to a man, you know? That hair. Does something to a man.
Luis was too scared to move, too scared to think, to react. And as those motor oil stained hands found their way under his blanket, and to the waistband of his underwear all Luis could do was squeeze his eyes shut and be somewhere else. Somewhere far away, outside his body where the humiliation and the shame and the fear couldn’t reach anymore.
But something was different this time. This time his mother was in the doorway as the invasion commenced. Eyelids hanging low, she was ungainly on her feet, bouncing subtly against the doorframe to keep herself aloft. But still, she had to see. Had to stop this. Please, please, stop this.
He saw his mother scream, but no noise came out. Yet her mouth distended wider, wider yet, until it was an unnaturally large oval. And that’s when the flesh around her mouth started to tear like tissue paper, sloughing off her face and hitting the floor with wet meaty slaps. The skin continued to rip and pull apart as the mouth got wider and wider until finally his mother’s entire head was nothing but an abyssal maw. Luis was too horrified to notice that Buster had disappeared in the interim, replaced by this arguably greater terror standing in his doorway.
His doorway that was now in flames.
The fire caught onto Luis’ mother, engulfing her with a quickness. But still the horror did not scream. Rather it simply caved in on itself and disappeared, leaving naught but the searing flames behind. The flames burned like arcane wildfire, tinged in green and spreading unnaturally fast until nearly the whole room was consumed. Luis huddled up into himself, desperate to escape the flames’ grasp but having nowhere to go. That is until a hand popped out from underneath his bed.
Grab on! A voice called from beneath.
Seeing no other alternative but this strange invention, Luis took the mysterious hand and was abruptly whisked underneath the bed, underneath and in a flash outside the burning apartment building.
Luis gasped in shock, trying to calm his breathing. As he did so, he noticed his legs were longer than before. He was 12 now. The age he was finally rescued.
The boy also noted he was still holding the hand that rescued him, only now it was attached to a whole person. Wearing blue jeans and draped in a dark hoodie, Luis tried to get his bearings on his benefactor but couldn’t see his features, not even by the light of the raging fire.
You saved me. Luis spoke aloud.
The figure replied, but did not turn towards him.
That I did. You don’t need to thank me. You would have done the same for me. I can sense you have a kind soul.
At first, Luis didn’t know how to respond to that unusual declaration, but he finally mustered something up. Even still, thank you. A beat passed. Who are you?
The figure chuckled a bit. I’m the Boy Who Walks Amongst The Willows. The Forever Child. Books have been written about me. Shame I didn’t get any residuals.
What…what do you mean?
My name is Pan. Peter Pan. And you are Luis Arroyo. The figure finally turned, but the hood obscured the young man’s face, leaving only a cheekish, grinning mouth to be seen. And I am cordially inviting you, Luis Arroyo, to Neverland.
…huh?
I can repeat it if needed.
Uh…no…no. I heard you. I’m just confused.
Never met a literary character before, eh? No need to be starstruck kiddo, I’m not so far above the norm. So you coming with me to Neverland?
Well, what’s it like?
The young man seemed to muse a bit. You know the greatest place ever?
Disney World?
A laugh. Yeah. Sure. But it’s EVEN BETTER.
Luis looked down at his shoes, coated in ash and holey from years of wear as they were. He couldn’t tell if the man was serious or not. And to be frank Luis was in no mood to be played with. But, when Luis looked back up at him, the young man had removed his hood.
You need to look a man in the eye to know if he’s serious, don’t you? You’re wiser than your age would suggest Luis Arroyo. Here, look into my eyes.
And Luis did so. And he was taken aback by the admixture of impressions he got from those eyes. There was a playfulness there. A wanton joyousness. But, out there on the periphery, a rage too. A righteous fury that burned bright in the reflection of those flames above.
My name is Peter Pan. And I am inviting you to follow me to Neverland. Savvy?
Luis believed him. He believed this young man spoke the truth. But…
I can’t. Luis replied solemnly.
Some of the laughter disappeared from Peter Pan’s eyes. Why not?
My baby brother. He lives with my Grandma. I can’t leave him behind.
Well, he can come too of course!
I…I don’t know….
Don’t you believe me?
I do. But you’re also a stranger to me. I….I don’t…
You don’t trust easily. Which is more than understandable. You don’t have to decide today Luis. But when you’re ready, I’ll be around. Okay?
Okay. Luis allowed a smile to creep in at the edges of his mouth. Luis looked to the flame again, and soon realized he didn’t feel Peter Pan’s grasp in his anymore. He looked to the side. Peter was gone.
And then, suddenly, Luis was catapulted into the sky. High above his burning apartment, high above the ramshackle tenements of his neighborhood. He was an adult again, fully grown, and lifting higher and higher into the night sky. Until…splashdown?
Inexplicably, Luis landed in a mass of water in the sky. An inversion of his birth into this dream world. And though he fought hard, he found himself continuing to “fall”, further and further into the darkened waters upward depths. Luis began to thrash about in a panic, unable to stop the ghastly pull that was drowning him. His lungs began to burn, his mouth quivered, never relenting against the onrush of water that would drown him. But he couldn’t hold out forever. The burning in his lungs grew immense, too immense to fight anymore. Luis opened his mouth and the water rushed in…
….Luis awoke, panting and afraid in his bed next to Pan. Pan, groggy but supportive, put an arm around Luis' shoulder and drew him in close.
…bad dream?
Luis took a moment to collect himself before replying. Yeah.
You want to talk about it?
But there was so much to process. And already the dream, or nightmare as it were, was starting to recede into the shadows of Luis’ subconscious. But there was one aspect of it he could not forget.
Peter Pan was there. And…and…it wasn’t you.
Pan’s expression was inscrutable at first. What do you mean?
I was back. The night of the fire. The fire my mother died in. And the Peter Pan that was there wasn’t you. It was someone else.
Well hon, I already told you it wasn’t me. I wasn’t there that night.
Luis chuckled dryly, despite the circumstances. And I didn’t want to believe you. I mean, who else would go around saving children from their terrible parents and call himself Pan? There couldn’t possibly be two right? That’s ridiculous.
Luis couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but there was an ounce of concern written on Pan’s features. But you say, you saw him? In your dream?
Yeah. I’ve never seen him before.
Pan pursed his lips. Well, that’s probably because he’s not real. The way he looked could just have been a result of your imagination.
Luis removed himself from Pan’s embrace. But somebody was there that night! And whoever it was, I think they set that fire in my building. I’m not making this up, Pan!
I didn’t say you were! Pan conceded. I believe you. Someone was there. Someone who said they were me….but wasn’t me.
So what are you saying? That there’s two Pan’s running around?
I…Pan stopped short, uncertain at first how to finish his thought, before finally conceding the point. I guess that IS what I’m saying. Something in his inflection disclosed that Pan was deeply unsettled by this. Someone is out there masquerading as me.
Luis dropped back into Pan’s arms. Maybe we’ll find him someday. Ask him why.
Pan shifted uncomfortably. And if he isn’t taking kids like you to Neverland, where IS he taking them?
Luis rested his head on Pan’s chest, and was surprised to find that Pan’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest. He was anxious about something, Luis could tell. But he wasn’t going to ask him about it this night. No, instead he allowed those deep abiding beats to lull him back to sleep. A sleep that was blissfully nightmare free.
The Next Day
We see Pan scarcely illuminated by a single white candle. Behind him is only darkness. He holds out his hands over the candle as if warming them by the fire. Then he pulls them away and begins to speak.
I had a dream it would be you, Lights Out. Or maybe a premonition. Either way, none of this is a surprise. And how appropriate it is that we face a team so diametrically different, so thematically opposed to our team.
Heh. Let me back up a sec.
Luis enters the shot and puts down another candle. It adds a small bit of light to the room, barely perceptible.
Ladies and gentlemen….we ARE Hearts on Fire. Pan. Luis Arroyo. Nobody screams underdogs like us, eh? I mean, even if we depose Lights Out, a tall order I’ll discuss momentarily, who do we got? The Malvados or Vaughn and JMont. Now, JMont is largely hot air, which is a topic I’d LOVE to discuss if the time comes. But Vaughn is serious business. Point is…long, long road to go before we can rest.
Suffice it to say, smart money is not on us. And I don’t blame you. I’m brand spanking' new and Luis is but a student of the craft. But being the underdogs works in our favor. Nobody expects much so the pressure isn’t as high on us as it is on a team like, say, the Malvados. They’re a brand with expectations. We’re the new kids on the block.
Now, that isn’t to say we’re not going to try to win this thing. Nothing could be further from the truth. But we’re not some snot nosed kids with blinders on either. We KNOW what’s before us.
Lights Out. Former Duos Champions. And as the awards show reminded us, Ava Arthur shocked the world and won the Bohemian Bash.
Luis walks by and plants down a couple more candles. The room becomes slightly more illuminated.
To say we have a healthy respect for you ladies is an understatement. Nobody knocks out the Malvados if they don’t have some talent. Luis and I, we’re studying hard. Studying those tapes. Analyzing those move sets. Incidentally that’s another advantage we do have. There’s a hell of a lot more material out there on you guys than there is on us. That is to say, there is not an iota of material on how we function as a team. Call it spin if you want, call it covering for inexperience. But the fact is…we’re ghosts, ladies. There isn’t even a Cliff Notes version of how we operate.
Pan winks.
Think on that.
Luis brings down two more candles and arrays them next to the others. The room is growing brighter.
Thank you my friend.
Luis simply nods and leaves the scene again.
Is the symbolism getting warmer? Pan smiles slyly. Well, then let me put all my cards on the table.
Luis returns with two more candles, and by now their environs are glowing warmly.
We are Hearts on Fire. You are Lights Out. You’re going to try to extinguish us at Fury, as you have so many others. But ladies? We have fire, we have LIGHT in our very names. And at the risk of sounding cliche, that light burns with the heat of our passion and our love for one another. We don’t fear the possibility of losing to you. No, we fear the possibility of letting each other down. Of seeing each other hurt. We aren’t some random pairing of individuals. We are the culmination of the best parts of the human condition: loving freely, without bounds.
I’d rather see myself be hurt than see Luis be hurt. So I have his back no matter what. Now, some cynics might see that as a disadvantage. I say, “how so?” If anything, the way we feel about each other just makes our bond that much stronger.
Luis returns with two final candles, and the room is now bathed in a brilliant light. Luis comes up behind Pan and circles his arms around Pan’s midsection. Pan turns to him and gives him a kiss, followed by a warm smile.
Simply put, we have a bond that few if any of the teams in this tournament have. We’re not just some random pairing of egos like Vaughn and JMont. We’re not just long-time allies like Cataclysm. Hell, what we have is even thicker than the brotherly blood of the Malvados. Has Hector ever been there for Victor after a nightmare, caressing his face and whispering to him that it’ll be alright? Has he ever encircled his brother in an embrace when he was feeling unsure of himself? Is their bond THAT tight?
Luis and I? We’re lovers. We feel each other's pain acutely. And the very LAST thing we would do is abandon the other to suffer in that ring. We may not be the oldest team on the block, but that’s the advantage we have over everyone else.
So Light’s Out thinks they’re going to put OUR lights out? I wish you luck. Because you’ll need every bit of it. Because ladies, no matter what you do, these hearts burn.
You strike us?
These hearts burn.
You beat us down?
These hearts burn.
You bloody us?
These hearts STILL burn!
Try not to get scorched by the flames.
Luis hugs Pan tighter as they look down at all the candles, the fire reflecting back in their eyes and burning brightly. And as the scene fades, you come away from it feeling as if something new and powerful has just been birthed here.
Elsewhere
Dimly, you hear the clatter of a train car racing along the tracks. But the shot is squarely on the strange hook handed man we met previously.
He’s shabbily dressed, but still wearing the long coat we saw him in last time. His hair is greasy and unkempt, perhaps because it’s been too long since he last showered. He’s leaning against the interior of the moving train car, amidst some wooden crates piled high on the walls.
A man cannot know his true measure until he has lost everything. He speaks softly, looking at…something…off camera. I know my true measure. A man…a BOY…he speaks the word with contempt….murdered my precious daughter, you see. And I tell you this so you don’t presume I’m simply unbalanced. I was a good man once. A police officer. Not like the bad ones you see in the news. I was incorruptible. I…I loved my city. His eyes start to grow distant and misty. Until it became my child’s tomb.
He seems to struggle to continue, looking to the side and rubbing one dirty sleeve across his eyes to quell the flow of tears. Finally, he continues.
So you see, I'm not a terrible man. Merely a man on a mission. A mission to murder the boy who took my daughter from me. And you? Well, you accosted me. You got in my way. It was nothing personal. Nothing personal. He repeats, almost as if reciting a mantra to himself. But I do wish you would die faster.
The man gets up, and the shot pulls back to reveal an abattoir inside that train car. A trio of bloodied bodies, each with their throats viciously slashed open. The hook handed man goes to one of the bodies, and we can scarcely see the wounded man’s chest rise and fall.
You. You’re still alive, and making me feel a modicum of guilt. I can bear no distractions. I’m sorry. The hook handed man digs the hook into the man’s shirt and starts to drag him to the door of the train car, which is open and recounting the scenery passing by. The wounded man groans and fights feebly, but to no avail. The hook handed man drags him to the door and takes in the countryside as it speeds by. A pity you could not have met me sooner. When I was less entrenched in vengeance.
And with that, he boots the wounded man out of the car.
Pan’s emerald eyes glowed, catlike, against the pitch of night. Holding Luis to him close, he brought his lips up to Luis’ ear and whispered “goodnight”, sending a pleased little thrill down Luis’ spine. He didn’t think it possible, but even with the short amount of time they knew each other, Luis already felt that there was nowhere safer than Pan’s arms. The boy was like a drug that always left him wanting. Wanting for more love, more closeness, more sex, more moments just like this where the demons of Luis’ past, the ones that came out at night, simply ceased to be.
But all good things must end. Luis felt the inky blackness of sleep creeping in at the edges, and before long he succumbed to it. And the demons reigned supreme again.
As waking turned to dreaming, Luis found himself falling…falling…and eventually submerged in icy waters. He fought to break the crest of the lapping waves, to breathe that fulfilling air again. Struggling mightily against the pull of the eddys that swirled about his feet, Luis eventually broke free, his head breaking the surface tension of the water. His breaths came in greedy gasps even as the cool night air bit his sodden face. He looked all about him, and saw nothing but an expanse of water in all directions. Starting to panic, he shouted out for help. But there was no answer. At first.
But then, as if by some sorcery, a prodigious light shined upon him. He looked up and where there was simply nothing before there was now a lighthouse, its beam surrounding him in its merciful glow. Luis was bathed in the light, and it grew brighter and brighter until he became aware he was somewhere else.
Somewhere dry, thankfully. But something seemed off too. Luis looked down at his legs that were safely ensconced in the ratty Power Rangers themed blanket. They were a few sizes too small for him, but just right for the six year old he was once again. Taking in his surroundings, he recognized his childhood bedroom, what little there was of it. The window with the jagged crack like lightning. The garbage bag of clothes in the corner for want of a dresser. The dark closet, where the monsters were supposed to dwell. But they didn’t live there. No. They lived just outside his door. In the living room, where his mother surrendered to the siren’s call of heroin and her boyfriend of the week drank himself into a stupor.
His name was Buster.
Oh no.
Luis sank beneath the covers and started to pray. He didn’t even know any prayers so he made them up as he went along, hoping God would take pity on him and approve anyway. But God must not have approved of his clumsy attempts, or else he wouldn’t have allowed Buster into the room. Wouldn’t have allowed Buster to sit on the edge of the bed. Wouldn’t have allowed that beer laden breath to speak those words.
Why you got long hair like a girl? You a girl? ….does something to a man, you know? That hair. Does something to a man.
Luis was too scared to move, too scared to think, to react. And as those motor oil stained hands found their way under his blanket, and to the waistband of his underwear all Luis could do was squeeze his eyes shut and be somewhere else. Somewhere far away, outside his body where the humiliation and the shame and the fear couldn’t reach anymore.
But something was different this time. This time his mother was in the doorway as the invasion commenced. Eyelids hanging low, she was ungainly on her feet, bouncing subtly against the doorframe to keep herself aloft. But still, she had to see. Had to stop this. Please, please, stop this.
He saw his mother scream, but no noise came out. Yet her mouth distended wider, wider yet, until it was an unnaturally large oval. And that’s when the flesh around her mouth started to tear like tissue paper, sloughing off her face and hitting the floor with wet meaty slaps. The skin continued to rip and pull apart as the mouth got wider and wider until finally his mother’s entire head was nothing but an abyssal maw. Luis was too horrified to notice that Buster had disappeared in the interim, replaced by this arguably greater terror standing in his doorway.
His doorway that was now in flames.
The fire caught onto Luis’ mother, engulfing her with a quickness. But still the horror did not scream. Rather it simply caved in on itself and disappeared, leaving naught but the searing flames behind. The flames burned like arcane wildfire, tinged in green and spreading unnaturally fast until nearly the whole room was consumed. Luis huddled up into himself, desperate to escape the flames’ grasp but having nowhere to go. That is until a hand popped out from underneath his bed.
Grab on! A voice called from beneath.
Seeing no other alternative but this strange invention, Luis took the mysterious hand and was abruptly whisked underneath the bed, underneath and in a flash outside the burning apartment building.
Luis gasped in shock, trying to calm his breathing. As he did so, he noticed his legs were longer than before. He was 12 now. The age he was finally rescued.
The boy also noted he was still holding the hand that rescued him, only now it was attached to a whole person. Wearing blue jeans and draped in a dark hoodie, Luis tried to get his bearings on his benefactor but couldn’t see his features, not even by the light of the raging fire.
You saved me. Luis spoke aloud.
The figure replied, but did not turn towards him.
That I did. You don’t need to thank me. You would have done the same for me. I can sense you have a kind soul.
At first, Luis didn’t know how to respond to that unusual declaration, but he finally mustered something up. Even still, thank you. A beat passed. Who are you?
The figure chuckled a bit. I’m the Boy Who Walks Amongst The Willows. The Forever Child. Books have been written about me. Shame I didn’t get any residuals.
What…what do you mean?
My name is Pan. Peter Pan. And you are Luis Arroyo. The figure finally turned, but the hood obscured the young man’s face, leaving only a cheekish, grinning mouth to be seen. And I am cordially inviting you, Luis Arroyo, to Neverland.
…huh?
I can repeat it if needed.
Uh…no…no. I heard you. I’m just confused.
Never met a literary character before, eh? No need to be starstruck kiddo, I’m not so far above the norm. So you coming with me to Neverland?
Well, what’s it like?
The young man seemed to muse a bit. You know the greatest place ever?
Disney World?
A laugh. Yeah. Sure. But it’s EVEN BETTER.
Luis looked down at his shoes, coated in ash and holey from years of wear as they were. He couldn’t tell if the man was serious or not. And to be frank Luis was in no mood to be played with. But, when Luis looked back up at him, the young man had removed his hood.
You need to look a man in the eye to know if he’s serious, don’t you? You’re wiser than your age would suggest Luis Arroyo. Here, look into my eyes.
And Luis did so. And he was taken aback by the admixture of impressions he got from those eyes. There was a playfulness there. A wanton joyousness. But, out there on the periphery, a rage too. A righteous fury that burned bright in the reflection of those flames above.
My name is Peter Pan. And I am inviting you to follow me to Neverland. Savvy?
Luis believed him. He believed this young man spoke the truth. But…
I can’t. Luis replied solemnly.
Some of the laughter disappeared from Peter Pan’s eyes. Why not?
My baby brother. He lives with my Grandma. I can’t leave him behind.
Well, he can come too of course!
I…I don’t know….
Don’t you believe me?
I do. But you’re also a stranger to me. I….I don’t…
You don’t trust easily. Which is more than understandable. You don’t have to decide today Luis. But when you’re ready, I’ll be around. Okay?
Okay. Luis allowed a smile to creep in at the edges of his mouth. Luis looked to the flame again, and soon realized he didn’t feel Peter Pan’s grasp in his anymore. He looked to the side. Peter was gone.
And then, suddenly, Luis was catapulted into the sky. High above his burning apartment, high above the ramshackle tenements of his neighborhood. He was an adult again, fully grown, and lifting higher and higher into the night sky. Until…splashdown?
Inexplicably, Luis landed in a mass of water in the sky. An inversion of his birth into this dream world. And though he fought hard, he found himself continuing to “fall”, further and further into the darkened waters upward depths. Luis began to thrash about in a panic, unable to stop the ghastly pull that was drowning him. His lungs began to burn, his mouth quivered, never relenting against the onrush of water that would drown him. But he couldn’t hold out forever. The burning in his lungs grew immense, too immense to fight anymore. Luis opened his mouth and the water rushed in…
….Luis awoke, panting and afraid in his bed next to Pan. Pan, groggy but supportive, put an arm around Luis' shoulder and drew him in close.
…bad dream?
Luis took a moment to collect himself before replying. Yeah.
You want to talk about it?
But there was so much to process. And already the dream, or nightmare as it were, was starting to recede into the shadows of Luis’ subconscious. But there was one aspect of it he could not forget.
Peter Pan was there. And…and…it wasn’t you.
Pan’s expression was inscrutable at first. What do you mean?
I was back. The night of the fire. The fire my mother died in. And the Peter Pan that was there wasn’t you. It was someone else.
Well hon, I already told you it wasn’t me. I wasn’t there that night.
Luis chuckled dryly, despite the circumstances. And I didn’t want to believe you. I mean, who else would go around saving children from their terrible parents and call himself Pan? There couldn’t possibly be two right? That’s ridiculous.
Luis couldn’t see it from his vantage point, but there was an ounce of concern written on Pan’s features. But you say, you saw him? In your dream?
Yeah. I’ve never seen him before.
Pan pursed his lips. Well, that’s probably because he’s not real. The way he looked could just have been a result of your imagination.
Luis removed himself from Pan’s embrace. But somebody was there that night! And whoever it was, I think they set that fire in my building. I’m not making this up, Pan!
I didn’t say you were! Pan conceded. I believe you. Someone was there. Someone who said they were me….but wasn’t me.
So what are you saying? That there’s two Pan’s running around?
I…Pan stopped short, uncertain at first how to finish his thought, before finally conceding the point. I guess that IS what I’m saying. Something in his inflection disclosed that Pan was deeply unsettled by this. Someone is out there masquerading as me.
Luis dropped back into Pan’s arms. Maybe we’ll find him someday. Ask him why.
Pan shifted uncomfortably. And if he isn’t taking kids like you to Neverland, where IS he taking them?
Luis rested his head on Pan’s chest, and was surprised to find that Pan’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest. He was anxious about something, Luis could tell. But he wasn’t going to ask him about it this night. No, instead he allowed those deep abiding beats to lull him back to sleep. A sleep that was blissfully nightmare free.
The Next Day
We see Pan scarcely illuminated by a single white candle. Behind him is only darkness. He holds out his hands over the candle as if warming them by the fire. Then he pulls them away and begins to speak.
I had a dream it would be you, Lights Out. Or maybe a premonition. Either way, none of this is a surprise. And how appropriate it is that we face a team so diametrically different, so thematically opposed to our team.
Heh. Let me back up a sec.
Luis enters the shot and puts down another candle. It adds a small bit of light to the room, barely perceptible.
Ladies and gentlemen….we ARE Hearts on Fire. Pan. Luis Arroyo. Nobody screams underdogs like us, eh? I mean, even if we depose Lights Out, a tall order I’ll discuss momentarily, who do we got? The Malvados or Vaughn and JMont. Now, JMont is largely hot air, which is a topic I’d LOVE to discuss if the time comes. But Vaughn is serious business. Point is…long, long road to go before we can rest.
Suffice it to say, smart money is not on us. And I don’t blame you. I’m brand spanking' new and Luis is but a student of the craft. But being the underdogs works in our favor. Nobody expects much so the pressure isn’t as high on us as it is on a team like, say, the Malvados. They’re a brand with expectations. We’re the new kids on the block.
Now, that isn’t to say we’re not going to try to win this thing. Nothing could be further from the truth. But we’re not some snot nosed kids with blinders on either. We KNOW what’s before us.
Lights Out. Former Duos Champions. And as the awards show reminded us, Ava Arthur shocked the world and won the Bohemian Bash.
Luis walks by and plants down a couple more candles. The room becomes slightly more illuminated.
To say we have a healthy respect for you ladies is an understatement. Nobody knocks out the Malvados if they don’t have some talent. Luis and I, we’re studying hard. Studying those tapes. Analyzing those move sets. Incidentally that’s another advantage we do have. There’s a hell of a lot more material out there on you guys than there is on us. That is to say, there is not an iota of material on how we function as a team. Call it spin if you want, call it covering for inexperience. But the fact is…we’re ghosts, ladies. There isn’t even a Cliff Notes version of how we operate.
Pan winks.
Think on that.
Luis brings down two more candles and arrays them next to the others. The room is growing brighter.
Thank you my friend.
Luis simply nods and leaves the scene again.
Is the symbolism getting warmer? Pan smiles slyly. Well, then let me put all my cards on the table.
Luis returns with two more candles, and by now their environs are glowing warmly.
We are Hearts on Fire. You are Lights Out. You’re going to try to extinguish us at Fury, as you have so many others. But ladies? We have fire, we have LIGHT in our very names. And at the risk of sounding cliche, that light burns with the heat of our passion and our love for one another. We don’t fear the possibility of losing to you. No, we fear the possibility of letting each other down. Of seeing each other hurt. We aren’t some random pairing of individuals. We are the culmination of the best parts of the human condition: loving freely, without bounds.
I’d rather see myself be hurt than see Luis be hurt. So I have his back no matter what. Now, some cynics might see that as a disadvantage. I say, “how so?” If anything, the way we feel about each other just makes our bond that much stronger.
Luis returns with two final candles, and the room is now bathed in a brilliant light. Luis comes up behind Pan and circles his arms around Pan’s midsection. Pan turns to him and gives him a kiss, followed by a warm smile.
Simply put, we have a bond that few if any of the teams in this tournament have. We’re not just some random pairing of egos like Vaughn and JMont. We’re not just long-time allies like Cataclysm. Hell, what we have is even thicker than the brotherly blood of the Malvados. Has Hector ever been there for Victor after a nightmare, caressing his face and whispering to him that it’ll be alright? Has he ever encircled his brother in an embrace when he was feeling unsure of himself? Is their bond THAT tight?
Luis and I? We’re lovers. We feel each other's pain acutely. And the very LAST thing we would do is abandon the other to suffer in that ring. We may not be the oldest team on the block, but that’s the advantage we have over everyone else.
So Light’s Out thinks they’re going to put OUR lights out? I wish you luck. Because you’ll need every bit of it. Because ladies, no matter what you do, these hearts burn.
You strike us?
These hearts burn.
You beat us down?
These hearts burn.
You bloody us?
These hearts STILL burn!
Try not to get scorched by the flames.
Luis hugs Pan tighter as they look down at all the candles, the fire reflecting back in their eyes and burning brightly. And as the scene fades, you come away from it feeling as if something new and powerful has just been birthed here.
Elsewhere
Dimly, you hear the clatter of a train car racing along the tracks. But the shot is squarely on the strange hook handed man we met previously.
He’s shabbily dressed, but still wearing the long coat we saw him in last time. His hair is greasy and unkempt, perhaps because it’s been too long since he last showered. He’s leaning against the interior of the moving train car, amidst some wooden crates piled high on the walls.
A man cannot know his true measure until he has lost everything. He speaks softly, looking at…something…off camera. I know my true measure. A man…a BOY…he speaks the word with contempt….murdered my precious daughter, you see. And I tell you this so you don’t presume I’m simply unbalanced. I was a good man once. A police officer. Not like the bad ones you see in the news. I was incorruptible. I…I loved my city. His eyes start to grow distant and misty. Until it became my child’s tomb.
He seems to struggle to continue, looking to the side and rubbing one dirty sleeve across his eyes to quell the flow of tears. Finally, he continues.
So you see, I'm not a terrible man. Merely a man on a mission. A mission to murder the boy who took my daughter from me. And you? Well, you accosted me. You got in my way. It was nothing personal. Nothing personal. He repeats, almost as if reciting a mantra to himself. But I do wish you would die faster.
The man gets up, and the shot pulls back to reveal an abattoir inside that train car. A trio of bloodied bodies, each with their throats viciously slashed open. The hook handed man goes to one of the bodies, and we can scarcely see the wounded man’s chest rise and fall.
You. You’re still alive, and making me feel a modicum of guilt. I can bear no distractions. I’m sorry. The hook handed man digs the hook into the man’s shirt and starts to drag him to the door of the train car, which is open and recounting the scenery passing by. The wounded man groans and fights feebly, but to no avail. The hook handed man drags him to the door and takes in the countryside as it speeds by. A pity you could not have met me sooner. When I was less entrenched in vengeance.
And with that, he boots the wounded man out of the car.
