"So, where are you headed first, Mr. Professional Wrestler?" Isabelle asks, standing in the doorway of the pair's bedroom. Sitting on the bed, an empty, open suitcase alongside several articles of clothing strewn wildly atop the mattress as a bent over Avery fishes through a pile of clothes on the floor, tossing them onto the bed behind him blindly. Just as many of the items lay on the carpeted floor alongside the bed; and a single sock sits on the dresser on the other side of the room from the frantically multitasking Avery. With just the slightest hint of hesitation, he looks up before spitting out at almost a hundred miles an hour:

"Detroit."

He tosses a pair of black dress pants behind him, which land at the foot of the bed on top of a tacky plaid button up shirt. Isabelle shakes her head with a grin on her face as steps through the doorway and over to Avery and the pile in front of him. "Need a little help?"

"Maybe just a little," he says, looking back at the chaotic mess he left in his rush to get everything primed and ready to pack. "Or, maybe a lot."

"Whatever would you do without me?" she asks, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter as she makes her way over to the bed and scoops up some the clothes laid out on the floor, dropping them onto the side of the bed. "So, you nervous?"

"What do I have to be nervous about?" he asks with a deep, croaking chuckle as he stands up straight and twists his torso to the right and the left to crack his back. He rubs his eyes for a second before throwing his arms down to his side and walking over to the bed himself, snatching one of the shirts off the bed, folding it, and stuffing it into the suitcase. This process repeats itself for what feels like a monotonous eternity, as the duo find themselves too caught up in the enthralling world of clothes folding to actually communicate. It isn't until after everything (sans the dresser sock) is packed away that Isabelle takes a seat on the bed next to the case and clears her throat.

"Um, Detroit. And your competition. The fact that you aren't very experienced or experienced at all when it comes to your new career choice. Detroit. Did I mention Detroit?"

"Three times."

"Not enough, then."

"Really, I appreciate the concern but there isn't much need to worry. I've been to Detroit many a time. Sure, mostly on one to two day trips and certainly never for a whole week before but still. If nothing's happened now, I doubt it will this time."

He smiles over at her, before looking back at the case and zipping it shut.

"Hey," she says, unsure of whether she should be smiling or keeping up the same concerned face she's had since bringing the topic of discussion to Detroit, "anything could happen out there."

"Anything could happen here, too. It isn't like Detroit's the only place where awful things happen."

"But you have to admit, awful things happen in bulk there."

"True as that may be, I still don't see the concern as completely necessary. I don't plan on venturing to the, seedier parts of town very often, at any rate."

"That's a consolation. I was half expecting you to drive around the ghetto at night," she says, finally cracking smile and laughing.

"Hey, I just might now that you mention it. Sounds like a good time to me."

"Asshole," she whispers, playfully hitting him in the arm. Avery laughs and sticks one hand into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. After a few seconds of fishing, he pulls his hand out empty. A confused look cross his face as he puts it back in and tries once more to grab whatever it is he's looking for, only to get the same end result. Nothing. A lightbulb goes off in his head as he slides his hand into his front right pants pocket and pulls out a plane ticket. Isabelle looks down at the ticket, slightly puzzled before with one swipe of the finger, the ticket slides over to the side of his hand and in its place? Another.

"Now, I think there's one more thing that needs packed."

---

---

---

"So, what seems to be the problem?" a man's voice rings out, snapping Avery out of the momentary lull he'd unconsciously been in, staring the cream colored curtain covering the open window. A light breeze pushes the curtain further into the room as he takes his eyes off of it and scans the room for the third time this meeting. He was coming up fast on his average; six times over the course of his assigned hour. And right now, he was only fifteen minutes into this appointment. This was shaping up to be quite the long one.

One more glance over of his surroundings revealed the same thing that they always had. Four beige walls adorned with tacky pictures of waterfalls & forests, a framed diploma from the University of Stanford hung on the wall behind the desk in the back of the room. The hardwood floor looked as clean as ever and shined as if it'd been waxed recently. A stiff looking leather chair sat across from him, and seated on it was the source of the voice disrupting his daydream.


"I said, what seems to be the problem?"

His voice was a fierce and bellowing baritone, almost as if he were croaking rather than speaking. He sat back in his chair and kept his unblinking eyes fixated on Avery, his patient.

"I feel, I guess bored is the best way to describe it."

"That's it? You're feeling bored?"

"Well, yes but that isn't all. Work's a dead end. Been there twenty years and every day feels just like the one before."

The shrink laughs, resting his hands in his lap.

"Quit."

"That simple, huh?"

"To me it is. You've been there two decades, you say? And it's lost all its luster? Well, I commend you for keeping up with something that obviously isn't your calling for that long, but there's no sense in wasting any more time in being an accountant."

"But I've put in so much time--"

"And it obviously hasn't led you anywhere fulfilling."

Avery falls silent right then and there, and leans back in the couch he's seated upon. The shrink shakes his head, marking something on the notepad in his hand before looking back at his patient with a smile on his face.

"Luckily, there's still hope for you."

"Glad to hear that doc, otherwise I'd have to reconsider these weekly meetings if they're proved to be a waste of time and money," he says with a chuckle.

"Right. In any event, if we're going to make any progress in combating those stagnant feelings of yours, I'm going to need to know something."

"Anything."

"What's the last thing that you can say honestly excited you?"

"Well, last night Isabelle--"

The shrink laughs and brings one hand up to cut Avery off.

"That one's on me. I meant in a career sense. What's the last thing you saw that made you go 'wow, I could see myself doing that'? Anywhere, classified ads or television or anything really."

"Ah, well then. A few months back, a friend of mine, Andrew Driscoll-- I've talked to you about him before, haven't I?"

"The one with some kind of medical condition that causes him to have no eyebrows?"

"Yes, him. This is going to sound silly but a few months back, he convinced me to join a professional wrestling federation. It never really worked out, however. A shame, I was actually looking forward to it."

"That's it! That's what you need to pursue!"

Confusion sweeps over Avery's face as he tries to make sense of the advice given to him by a supposedly certified psychiatrist, as said psychiatrist smiles at him with genuine joy. He furrows his brows at the doctor, which garners a semi annoyed eye roll before the shrink sits up straight in his chair and clears his throat.

"We've made a breakthrough here, Avery."

"Sorry, I'm just a little lost here. You want me to quit my job and become a professional wrestler?"

"Putting it in layman's terms, yes. That's exactly what I want you to do. Just think about it, Avery. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"No, you haven't, doc."

"Then trust me."

Avery twiddles his thumbs a bit, looking down at his clenched hands that lay in his lap. After a few seconds of empty staring at nothing in particular and his right hand's third consecutive win in the single player game thumb war he was having, he looks up and smiles ever so faintly.

"I do."

"Then go for it. What's the worst that can happen?"