The Warrior's Code
Character(s): Finlay and a random wrestler.
Pairings (if any): None.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. "The Warrior's Code" is by Dropkick Murphy's.
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You're the fighter you've got the fire
The spirit of a warrior, the champion's heart
You fight for your life because the fighter never quits
You make the most of the hand you're dealt
Because the quitter never wins
No!
Once those bagpipes start playing. No one can stop him. He's unbeatable. Battle worn, and with wisdom. Rusty ring skill? Who are you kidding? Grinding teeth, fists clutching. Shaleleigh bouncing in the palm of this Irish Bastard's hand. Anger consumes him, along with a bit of whiskey and rye from the night before. He's a fighter. A warrior.
You were born to box in a city that's seen their share
Mello, Ryan, Carney, among them your photo proudly hangs there
Above the bar in the Gaelic Club
They tell the story of a throwback
With the heart of a lion
They salute your glory
Fighting is in his blood, and he can't hold back anything. Ready to let loose, as soon as the Irish heartland music starts to blare. Just like the beating drums of the old Celtic Warriors. He's been through hell itself, and isn't afraid to fight. He was born fighting and he'll die fighting, because fighting is in his blood. The music starts to play over the loudspeakers, for all to hear. It's time.
"And the opponent...on the way to the ring...from Belfast, Ireland, weighing in at 235 pounds...FINLAY!"
Proudly and angerly walking to the ring, where all hell breaks loose, the crowd boos, yet a select few cheer. Nothing like a good dirty fight. It doesn't matter how you win, you just win.
Entering the squared circle, he waits for the bell. Spatting and cursing at the man, the boy, infront of him. He'll never win! He stares at the young man, taking the verbal lashing, just nodding, and staring the old warrior down. He's got my respect, but this isn't about respect!
It's another murderous right
Another left hook from hell
A bloody war on the boardwalk
And the kid from Lowell rises to the bell
The bell tolls, as the Celtic Warrior swings, lefts and rights. Kicks and throws. All hell has broken loose, as anther jab to the jaw. Blood spews, but the warrior keeps battling. Snapping a hard move, then another. With the warrior picking the boy over his shoulders and impaling him hard into the mat, he's unleased his anger. Still, more has yet to be seen. He pushes the ref. back and out of the ring.
The boy stares, dazed at the Celtic warrior above him. On his hands and knees. The Warrior, smirking, grabbing his mighty shaleleigh, raring back. The boy is about to become a man. A fallen warrior. Smirking the Celtic Warrior whispers; My name is Finlay, and I love to fight!
Blackness, then the bell rings. It's over. He's felt the wraith of a brash warrior. He knows now that warrior's don't quit.
It's a warrior's code
He's got the warrior's soul