---

---

He stood there his eyes puffy and lips blistered and he saw that his kingdom was good.

"Time for it all to change again, time for everything to settle back into just..." His words are caught in his throat as his eyes scan the empty seats of the arena. ".. the way they we-" His voice falters and drifts away as he slowly descends to his knees.

No, not going back... no, we are... transforming...

And so he stands, he peers out at the black sea of absent souls and he shakes his head, picking up his ring gear and retreating to the back.

---

The half empty bottle of bourbon vibrates, rivulets in amber dripping into a puddle on the table.

Grabbing his cell phone, the bleary-eyed Irishman growls into the phone. "Whattaya want, balls!" There's a tense silence on the other line.

After a moment, as he's reaching for his boxers to slip them on, he confirms with the other party on the line that they will be there in a moment.

(Knock Knock)

The door opens, the eyebrows raise, Edward can't quite make out the disposition of his friend.

"Rough night, Cy?" His loafers clack loudly against the hard wood floor of Cyren's home.

"Better then a lot, shittier then most." Cy chucks the remains of his bourbon in the trash. It hadn't taken long to slurp down.

"You know, we're going to have to have a talk about the drinking at some point..." Edward prods, neatly pulling up his pants as he rests down on the sofa.

Startled, as if struck by a bolt, this jostles the Sickness.

"Edward, I'm borne of the meadows - it's not blood flowing through my veins, it's whiskey! I bathe in it and smell like daisies." To punctuate the point, he deeply inhales into his armpit, grinning.

Mr. Lujan does not smile.

As Cyren settles into his recliner across from Lujan, he lights a smoke.

"You've redefined yourself, my friend. Established yourself against one of the current generation's premier talents - my congratulations."

"In the old days, Fernando would have barely gotten passed a dark match and my performance was barely mid-card. The new guys? They're weak, Lujan. They don't comprehend the brutality that used to inhabit this place. They haven't even begun to scratch the surface of carnage, which is the stock and trade of XWF."

Nodding his head, Lujan clips open his briefcase with a shake of his eyes to Cyren. "Be that as it may, it's still a victory and not one to be taken lightly. It provides you momentum and of all people, you the most, require that. Once you begin driving forward, Cy - no one can beat you. You need to hold onto that and take that seriously because the moment you crap out, that very second that you get comfortable and overconfident, that's when you will slip. Be mindful of it."

"Yea, yea, and amidst all our hopes and dreams, beating pinheads in meaningless matches doth not rank high on my list of accomplishments. I have bigger fish to fry." Puff, puff, ember burn.

"Quite true and in more ways then you know. You were put up against one of the best today's XWF offers and now... you've been put up against one of their most brightly shining stars in Mason Prince. You have to have caught onto what's going on. You're not being thrust to the top - Shane is feeling you out, testing your resolve. You're being measured and weighed and I feel you'll shock him pleasantly with the kind of vigor you've shown as of late." Edward finished, rifling through paperwork.

Getting up, sipping on a beer, Cyren waves him off.

"What do you have for me this week, Edward?"

"Well-" Lujan continues to flip through pages, finally just tossing them aside. "- frankly not much, Cy. This is another circumstance where there's been a failure to procure adequate information from a reliable source. It seems as if the current group of stars somehow inherently communicate via telekinesis because I haven't been able to get my hands on any kind of recorded footage, written statement, hell... even a letter. These guys seemingly 'intuit' what their opponents believe and respond in kind." Edward finishes, his hands nervously clasped over one another.

At this, Cyren hears yet another knock on his door. His voice is exasperated as it is tossed over shoulder. "What am I supposed to do then, Edward? Hire a fucking medium to snatch their thoughts and strategies from thin air?" He finishes, opening the door.

"Oh, but of course! It's why I'm here."


A beautiful face, long and elegant stares at him, blurring as the figure moves into his house and stands by Lujan.

"Okay, now Edward... first of all, who the bloody hell is she? Second of all, what the bloody hell do you know that I don't?" Cyren's voice is nervous as he closes his door.

At this, Lujan stands behin the newcomer, clasping her by the shoulder.

"Well, Cy - in lieu of being able to figure out quite how these chaps truly do communicate, I've opted for a method more from your playbook - I've used non-traditional alternate means of research. Miss Dextra here is a respected-" He finishes smugly.

"I'm a psychic." She supplies, doing a curtsy. "I thought we'd might as well be frank about it, at least. And call me Tabitha."

"A bloody gypsy? These guys in XWF don't even record a camera segment, don't post to a blog, don't provide any reasonable explanation for the means in which they communicate, so we've resorted to a bloody fucking Spiritualist! You got Edgar Cayce hiding in the briefcase, Edward?"

A cough diverts Cyren's attention. "Cayce was a hack - no one has that fine a 'vision.' I can tap into the Akashic records and retrieve 'snapshots' of information but I could never provide a full detailed report. You have my services, however, let's keep our expectations realistic." She finishes, setting candles down around her, lighting incense.

"Do I need to turn on Enya for this? Should Edward and I hold hands?" Cyren snuffs out his cigarette.

Edward is busy finishing his notes on their conversation up to that point for future publishing on the XWF blog. He peels a camera phone from his pocket, setting it to record.

"I would hope not, Cy. Now, I'm recording this for posterity but also as a way to communicate with the industry. You've read the biography I've provided concerning Mason Prince, correct?" Edward questions, slipping out of his jacket.

Tabitha nods her head, interrupted from a soft humming.

"Ah yes, I have. I have attempted to probe the other side for the traces of his soul and it was a difficult search - his is a weak, pitiful flicker. Not like yours, Mr. Cyren. You're a towering, blinding inferno - you harbor dark, painful secrets." Her dark eyes roam about the XWF legend, yet he shrugs her off.

"Let's do this, then. What can you tell me?" He says, kneeling down on the floor with her as her lithe body sways to and fro.

hmmMMMMMhhhmmmmHHHHHhmmmmm

"His is a heart; doubtful. He quivers on the inside, fears consuming him, his very own mask having slipped. The Knight reveals himself as a fool jester, he---" Her words are bitterly cut off by Cyren's cold voice.

"Specifics?"

At this, Tabitha rolls her eyes and drops the pretense.

"Ah, screw it... give me a pen, I'll write what they've said down. You can do with it what you will." She says, pulling out her own cigarette, drinking from a flash hidden in her cleavage.

Cyren shakes his head.

"There's simply nothing sacred anymore, Edward."

"Nothing ever was, Cy."

---

(...Rogue's gallery of thoughts.)

"You can try and hurt me, but the pain will fade. You can try insult me, but it will wash over me. You can try and kill me, but you will only kill a man. And like the hopes of all that ride on my back..."

His is an interesting case, it truly is. I'm baffled and stupified. In the same breath he exhibits that infectious naivete that has consumed XWF and in the next instant, he's showing a shade of wisdom, perched ready to stride through a pathway to realization. Unfortunately, in his case, he's merely tapping at the door, he hasn't walked through it, yet.

Arrogance: The downfall of meek men and the comedy of Legends. It's as if watching gnats taunt giants is enough to rattle them to the core. This is something Fernando and Mason share in common. There's a difference between confidence, self-evaluation and this particular character dysfunction. Those lines are thin and blurred but ever present still.

Mason is beating his chest, attempting to scare off his naysayers, betraying his own burgeoning intelligence. He has shown it to - he understands that if he is more then man then he is more than mortal. Cracking through the dusty rat raps in his mind, is an understanding that if he simply reaches for more then material, he'll obtain it. It's not about championship gold or title or station that drives us - it's a quest for immortality.

We yearn to be the name on the lips of all peoples. Through our remembrance, we are ageless.That's what turns a warrior into a King, an athlete to a Legend, a man into a God. Mason almost understands that; he can't quite picture it though. He's looking through a blurry mirror, seeing foggy tendrils on the otherside.

I've walked between those worlds and here I still stand.

We shall blaze like meteors in blinding sight. We shall not go gentle into that good night.

We will rage.

Rage against the dying of the light.

And ultimately, like all things in this world, return to dust.

He's paraphrasing Dylan Thomas here, something quite endearing to me. Excellent works which teach much, this also though, presents a problem. It betrays Mason's internal voice to me. It tells me that he can't summon up enough creativity to put the exclamation point on what he's saying.

That's very troublesome.

He's sparking genius and waxing poetic; he's neither though and thinks himself even greater. Ultimately, this is his undoing. It reflects to me a vast ocean of potential; that's all though. He hasn't capitalized upon his own humility, plunged into his own depths and ripped something deep to the surface. In order to rise, he needed to fall; what he does of this, is his choosing. He lost his 'streak', let's see if he can regain his capabilities.

This is a young man who clocks in, clocks out, gives the best effort anyone could ask - if I were in the days of mentoring, I'd take this lad under wing and show him a few tricks he would have never dared dream of.

School's out of session, though. I'll educate him in that ring.

He's slipping masks and I've slipped my leash.