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Dionysus · (02-25-2023)

There was a deafening silence between us.

Even though Ben still looked jovial, I could tell what I had said upset him.

After all, it isn't every day that you turn down money from your new stepfather.

Ben coughed awkwardly, breaking the silence with, "I gotta tell ya kid...I don't really understand..."

"Look," I began to explain, "it isn't that I would never want you guys to invest. I'm...I'm just not comfortable receiving money from you for this. The marriage...its still really new to me, y'know?" I relaxed, knowing that the tension was being broken, and allowing myself a moment to collect my thoughts on everything. "I mean, you have been a friend of the family for such a long time, and...I know I'm not really making this better, I just...need more time, I think." Ben tapped the side of his coffee mug, looking down at his plate. Our late dinners were both growing cold over this conversation. Its not as though I had any problems with Ben specifically; the man practically raised me, always checking in on my mother and I whenever he had the chance. If I had issues with their courtship and marriage, I definitely would have said something.

He stared me down across the table, giving me a look that I can only describe as a cross between concern and frustration. Almost like he wanted to figure something out, but cared too much about how I would take the question. Then, he asked, "It has to do with your old man, right?"

Like always, Ben had a way of getting right to the point. All I could do was nod. My father, Hector Berget, left my mother and I when I was about twelve. He traveled to Japan for work and we lost contact. No one knew what had happened. He was simply gone. We had petitioned to declare him legally deceased as to not raise our hopes. Something might have happened, after all. But we were never told. Ben knew this story well; he knew some regulars at The Dakota that worked on similar cases like ours, and arranged for the introductions. It was how he first came into our lives, and has been close ever since.

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he did so, and spoke straight from the heart. "I get it; your dad is still a touchy subject, and this marriage is still a change we're all getting used to. But you gotta remember, D, that I'm not here to replace Hector. Nobody can take that away from him, or from you. I just know I can take care of her easier this way. And I do want to take care of her, just like you do...and I'm sure just like he did. The feelings you have about your pops are valid, though. If you're not comfortable taking our money...then I can accept that."

"Well I appreciate that you understa-"

"For now." he had cut me off, reaching for his chicken sandwich in the process. "But you better not turns us down every time. We want to help you in any way we can. We both care about you, don't forget that."

"I understand," I replied, grabbing the cheeseburger on my plate. "I just want to make sure that we're in a stable position and I know it won't hurt you guys financially. Besides, this vineyard...I want to try and prop it up on my own, without my parents looking over my shoulder. You get that, right?"

"Kid, you know I had a family of my own, right?" He sarcastically chided. "My kids hated me lookin' out for them. You'll grow to hate it too now that you're technically one of my kids now."

"If I am being honest...I always felt like I was one of your own," I commented, a calming realization having struck me. "Now its just more...official. More real. I feel like I can actually call you dad now, instead of just pretending to while I was younger."

"Fo du ih, 'en," Ben said through a mouthful of sandwich. He then swallowed, laughing as he repeated, "So do it then! Go on, call me dad." He looked around the restaurant, raising his voice saying "Hey everyone! My new son is gonna call me 'dad' for the first time! Lets hear it for'em!" There were a few chuckles and some light clapping from the bar.

I took a big bite out of my cheeseburger, scowling in my embarrassment and feeling my face grow red. At least I had a reason now to have objected...

This whole tournament has me thinking.

You all have had a taste of what I can do.

But do you truly know the man who is Dionysus?

...I suppose not. Lets do these introductions proper, shall we?

Hello. My name is Dionysus Berget. Yes, Dionysus is actually my name. No, I am being serious. Dad was apparently proud of his half-greek heritage and wanted to honor that by naming me after...well, the party god. Or more specifically, the god of wine, theater, chaos, ecstasy; you pick one. Most people shorten my name down to Dion. Or, if you're partially reading impaired like Mad Dog, Dino. Which as a matter of fact, I don't mind. It will then remind me of Dino's Gyros, which isn't all that bad of a fast food chain, but like any fast food restaurant, there are always better options. I take pride in the name given to me. Everyone should; it is one of the first birthday gifts anyone receives in this world. But a name chosen for this business should carry its own weight. I can only imagine the number of Zeuses, Hadeses, and don't get me started on the number of people choosing Ares. That's bottom of the barrel stuff. Even if Dionysus were not my real name, I would probably choose it on my own anyway. Why? Well what better god to best represent wrestling itself? The pageantry, the undercurrent of chaos that can happen in every match. The homoerotic undertones.

...Don't lie, we all know its there.

The point I am making to you, Mr. Wright, relates to the significance of my name...and how long it will linger in your mind once I eliminate you from the tournament.

Now I'm certain your friend...Sunny, right? I'm sure he has his own choice words for The Lord of the Vine. And he is well within his right to say them, from the safety of his own home, or dive bar of choice, knowing that there will not be any repercussions for what he's said. However, if he really wanted to prove his point, your friend would step up and step in. So I beg your pardon if I choose to address the pack leader, not the runt of the litter, when it comes to the business that we are about to do.

I mean really, it is the two of us that will go to war, right? Your own words will suffice here...unless you lack the confidence to speak with the conviction your lackey has. But that is also the name of the game for you in this tournament, isn't it? You see myself, a confident competitor who has had nothing short of hit after hit, with the momentum and business-savvy at his side, and look down with disdain, as I represent someone who has invested in himself and turned his life around. Please, Mad Dog, do not assume that you are the only one who has struggled with life. I spent time moving from home to home to get away from men who pursued a false debt placed on us. I had to live in the gym I worked at, thanks to the courtesy of a man I considered a father; a man who, without him, I would not be here today. I have had to fight to survive just as much as anyone else; however, unlike many who decide that folding the hand life gave them is the best choice, I took a bet on my future, going all-in in spite of the risk. And when it paid off, I paid it back to the community by starting the Thyrsus Hearth Foundation, an organization devoted to help the homeless and out of work gain more confidence in their lives and retake control.

Remind me to send you information if your inevitable loss puts you on the street like you think it will. They are quite good at their job...though admittedly I do have bias.

See, that is the biggest problem you have going into this. That desperation, the "animal backed into a corner" mentality. It is a distraction, nothing more. When I step in-between those ropes, I'm not worried about whether I will win or lose, what the implications of me winning or losing will be, or anything else. What matters, in that moment, are you, me, and the referee. We will go in bringing our full force to bear, and the most able is going to pull out ahead. If that is me, I move on with well-earned momentum. If it is not, then I begin the ascent anew. It is, after all, how this business works; there is not just one opportunity to make your mark.

That said, I am making the most of the opportunity. From mer-low expectations as an outsider to a name looking at the bordeaux of success, you will note that I am riesling to the occasion. Unlike you, who is treating this tournament as the last syrah. You will be sent malbec to the locker room, defeated, dejected, and disappointed in yourself. We may be sherr-ing a ring for the moment...

...But the only thing you will be remembered for...is the finish.

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