6A: Return to Reality.


The central heating in the hotel room quietly puffs away. The only modern thing. Lying atop the still-made bed, with just a thin, brown throw-rug haphazardly strewn across his ankles, the man stirs. He kicks away what remains of his covering and blinks himself to wakedness.

Throwing his legs over the edge, bare feet touch a stained wooden floor. The timber is deceptively warm. A lie, like so much else. The heat seeps in from small, discreet grates in the corners of the room. It whips around his ankles, helping him to adjust. Unnecessary, given the temperature outside.

With a yawn and a stretch, he finds himself on solid ground. Standing. Supported. Fully upright, he lifts up his feet, balancing on the soles of his feet. He curls his toes inwards, clenching. With a twitch, he contracts his calves and releases. Physical, tangible release. Finally.

Repeating, he does the same with every inch of his body: quads, buttocks, abdomen, shoulders, arms, neck.

Eyes.

Closed, then open.

In the real.

It floods in. Reality realised. No dreams or fantasies. A man in a room.

“It seems like it bothers you, Chris,” he says, looking straight towards you. “The fact that I have friends. I’m not quite sure what to say about that. I mean, there’s only like three of them, so it’s not that impressive that you have more enemies than that. Still, it’s something that I haven’t fully adjusted to myself. But please don’t mistake everything I say and do for reality. I paint pictures of the way that I see the world, and I invite everybody to share in that vision. But that doesn’t make it true. I told you as much already. No matter how much I wish it were the case that Dolly Waters was kicking Lycana’s severed head at Thad Duke’s mash-and-taters, sadly it was just a feeling. Nothing more, nothing less. But uh… weren’t you the one with Theo Pryce sitting there next to you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you made promises to Louis and Tommy that you just couldn’t keep? Again. Hmph… it’s a bit rich calling me out for cameos, bud. So much for you being a ‘loner’. Or wait, was that me? You’ve kind of flip-flopped on that since the start. It seems like you change your story more than you change your name. Maybe you’re just going with your feelings too, in which case, I’m kind of proud of you. Or maybe you’re just scrambling because you don’t know what the fuck to do against me.

Here, let me offer you an olive branch. Look around!” With a sweeping arm he offers a view of his hotel room.

The single bed is pushed up into the corner opposite one lone window through which light breaks through the sheer voile secondary curtain. A rickety dining chair is tucked under a small wooden shelf of a desk that protrudes from a frame fastened to the wall, upon which an ancient, box-shaped television sits. The bunny ears on the top flop in defeat towards the entrance to the room next to which a small, door-less opening leads to a bathroom.

“Can you see anyone else here with me, Chris? Alas, my bed is well and truly empty.” A sadness washes over his face, and he sits within its melancholy for a moment before shaking himself back to reality. “It seems like yours is too. Or maybe you've just decided to leave Mandii at home instead of plastering those home-made bestiality videos of yours across our screens and calling it promotional material. Actually, maybe that’s a Theo call, since you sure as shit can't do anything for yourself. I guess he likes a little more hair on his booty holes than Mandii has to offer.

I'll give you this, Chris," he says as the soles of his feet pad along the floorboards. He makes his way across the small room and flicks a switch on the wall just outside the bathroom. "You've been able to surprise me at least once."

Stepping inside, wood gives way to small once-white tiles. Heat gives way to a coldness that he thought he had put behind him.


Light buzzes from a dangling, shadeless bulb. He turns his back and with a rustle, lowers his pants. Without a care, he begins relieving himself into the toilet bowl (not that you can see it). He calls back, though he knows not if anyone would even 'hear' it.

"That cute little stunt on Savage, that surprised me." The urine continues to plummet into the water with a cascading splash. There are two types of men in this situation, and he is clearly showing which one he is. "I just thought you were over Jenny, is all. Given how long it's been, it really surprised me to see how much brain space she still seems to take up for you. You’re so damn intent on showing how fucking edgy you are that you don't even realise how much you're letting us all in on your inner workings. And I know a thing about being trapped in my own mind!"

His body twitches as a shiver runs up his spine upon emptying. With two shakes, the last drops fall away and he pulls his trousers back up. He pushes the small metal button at the top of the cistern and water gurgles into the bowl, flushing the waste away.

"Starting a 'talk show'? Yeesh!" he shakes his head as he turns, exposing his cheek to you as he turns the tap on the scratched, white porcelain hand basin. "You still got it bad, bud. I know! I know! You're gonna deny it. I'm tired of playing games though, man."

Wetting his hands, he then picks up a mottled bar of blue-green soap and scrubs away at his palms. A lather forming upon his hands, he meticulously ensures that every nook and cranny between his fingers is tended to. The backs of his hands, his wrists, and underneath his nails all follow before he turns the tap once more and it squeaks off

"For months now I've been playing games about my own feelings, making jokes about a certain someone to cover up my own insecurities." He shakes, letting droplets of water fall into the foamy basin. A few small dots hit the streaked mirror above. Others land on the tops of his feet. He shakes them too.


"It's as I adjust to my new reality, you know… being the king(slayer) of your world... that I start to see some of the areas of growth that I still have to go through." He reaches for a rumpled white towel hanging from a hook drilled into the basin. He dabs it at his hands, though without the same diligence he had washed them with. "It looks to me like you could do the same. If I were no longer into someone, I'd just cut ties. There's no need to parade around their memory. It just makes you look sad and desperate.

I got to spend a little bit of time with Jenny. You know that. I mean, you referenced it so you clearly saw it." A flimsy bamboo toothbrush is gathered from where it lay on top of a cheap, plastic container. A tube of toothpaste, rolled up from the bottom, is also raised and the man begins unscrewing the lid. "Jenny has her faults, I won’t deny that. She did me dirty after our tag match and left me there for Lycana and Marf to have their way. But one thing she didn't do was talk about Chris Chaos.

She was over you.

It's so sad to see that you’re still so obsessed with her. Even if it's a hate boner, she's on your mind. Otherwise you wouldn't have done the fake-out that you did, pretending to be running her show." Squirting toothpaste upon the bristles, he turns the tap on once more and allows the water to slightly dampen the white and blue clump. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Leaving the tap running, he inserts the brush into his mouth, he begins scrubbing back and forth, over and under, up and around, counterclockwise starting from the upper left. After precisely two minutes, the brush is run under the tap and he spits a mouthful into the sink. He shakes the toothbrush dry and returns it to its container.

"What’s worse is how you're going to try and rationalise it.” Toothpaste mixed with saliva froths from the corners of his mouth. A rabid look. He presses his hands together in a scoop and fills it under the tap. Slurping from his makeshift cup, he swirls the water around in his mouth and spits it back out once more. The tap drives it away down the drain, and he turns it off. “It's like you've actually convinced yourself that these are the sorts of things that earn you that fearsome ol’ reputation you keep trying to convince me about. All it does though is support everything that I've said. That you're a try-hard edgelord who thinks he's an alpha when he'd be lucky to be considered a fucking zeta. That you need to parade around using Jenny Myst’s schtick in order to stay… relevant. Pot-kettle, motherfucker. That fall has been a mighty big one, hasn’t it?

I wish I could say it was out of character, but it’s just not.” He exits the bathroom and tracks across the room once more. He bends down just beyond the foot of the bed and picks up a crinkled white t-shirt, complete with ketchup stain. Sliding it over his head, he licks his thumb and tries to rub at the stain a little bit. It just makes it worse. “It’s sad, Chis. It shows how out of touch you are with your lot in life. You practically admitted to being happy waiting out your days until all of your betters pass you by, and then you plan on swooping in. And somehow you think this gives you a leg up? That’s not surviving, Chris. It’s hiding. If I - the guy on the top of the mountain - am the grunt work soldier that never gets ahead, you’re the lost little ant who got separated from the trail. And when you put your head in the sand about that, it just makes it so much easier for the rest of us to fuck you.

I’ll admit, I don’t know what’s coming on the horizon. That’s why I need to keep going. But I’m going to do this correctly, which means I’m in no rush. You want to talk about ‘time’?” He glances at the small, black, digital alarm clock by the side of the bed. Mouthing, but not saying, the word ‘shit’, his movements pick up a little bit. He slips his feet into a pair of brown flip-flops and tosses a grey duffle bag over his shoulders. “I’ve been waiting ten years for my chance to get some answers. I’ll fight for a hundred more if I need to.”

Adding a keyring that had been resting next to the broken television to his ensemble, he heads for the door. As he exits, drops the bag to the ground, and fumbles with the lock, he starts singing along to a tune faintly heard in the background.

“Caught a ride with the moon.
I know, I know you well, well better than I used to
Haze all clouded up my mind
In the daze of the why it could've never been
So you say and I say you know you're full of wish...”

Cutting off mid-verse, he tugs on the door to check that it’s locked. He nods and smiles at you.

“I do love that song.” The bag is scooped up once again and slung over his back as he makes his way down the corridor. “Maybe I’m not the one to lead you into the storm, Chris. Doesn’t really make sense for that to be me anyway. I feel like you’re not listening though. I didn’t take this championship from Chris Page to be the hero, nor to be the big star. I’m actualy pretty good deal for your madam Theo and his sex pest business partner - this hasn’t even resulted in a pay rise for me! Because I don’t care about that! I did this for me. And if that means people like me, then fine. If it means they don’t, well that’s fine too.

Let me come down to your level for a moment though, Chris.” Two-steps at a time he bounds down the staircase. Three, four, five flights of stairs! More even! From the top of the building to the bottom. “I know that you think that I need to go through you to be the best…

Because that seems totally like something I care about.

But pretending that I did, do you really believe what you’re saying? That somebody can’t be one of the greats if they haven’t pounded your back pussy? There sure must be a lot of greats out there then! The bigger story is probably how you owned up to no longer being one of them yourself anymore. That’s a very different song you’re singing than when you first started yapping!” He stops, smiling and listening, quietly this time, to another song being played from beyond another door.

“Twenty, twenty, twenty, four hours to go
I wanna be sedated
Nothing to do, nowhere to go, oh
I wanna be sedated”

With a bop in his step, he heads off down the corridor once more. Behind a fragile-looking perspex desk, an older woman leers at the man from over top the frames of her spectacles. Blissfully, he ignores her as she shakes her head. This wouldn’t be the first time that she’s seen a man leave this hotel in his pyjamas!

“That’s progress, Chris!” he resumes. “Maybe you can learn after all! You just had to get a little creative with it and think outside the four walls of that box you’ve been happy living in.”

The sunlight hits him as he steps out onto the street. In the morning bustle, few pay attention to another vagrant on the street. Looking directly into the sun, he breathes the biggest breath he can. On the exhale, his eyes read as though they’re having a conversation all of their own.


The cursing of a suited man on a bike whizzing past him catches his attention and his eyes dopily follow, bringing him back to this, the tangible world.

“The question on my mind, Chris, is do I take credit for that? Or should Louis?” with a shrug he continues his merry walk down the street. “What a statement that was, eh? You sure showed us! You had all the advantages that Theo could think of, and still you fell short.

Should I say it?

Okay, I’ll say it!

AGAIN.

Tell me again about that order round here. Tell me how you’re somehow above me when you couldn’t do what I did against Big Lou’. Tell me how your role is to shake things up a bit, when that’s exactly what I did at Leap of Faith, yet somehow you’re still throwing a tantrum about it.” He rounds a corner, and you continue to follow. Because that’s what you do. “You might want to hold off on the lectures about the comings and goings of this place though. I came and went before you even had the chance to turn yourself into the punchline that you are today. The time in between is what I’m making up for now. It’s what I’m fighting to get back.

And this is what I need you to understand. It’s so easy to get lost in the fantasy, you know? Since whatever it is that happened to me at Leap of Faith happened, I’ve kind of been stuck there, in that other world.” He points to the sky. “But I have to learn what I can control, and that’s what’s down here. So my feet are planted on solid ground. Everything I am, everything I’ve been, has all brought me here, to this moment. The chance to walk in, and walk out, as master of my own universe. I’m not bringing any friends with me, though I see Theo’s name is still listed as accompanying you.

Boing-flip.

It’s just me, my ketchup stain, and whatever change of clothes I have in this here bag.” With a jiggle of his shoulder, he rustles the bag still over his shoulder. “I’ll leave it to you to parse the symbolism of this here journey today, but I hope that at the very least you realise that you can call me a gimmick until you’re blue in the face, but everything you’ve seen today is as real as it fucking gets. So much of my life feels like it’s not in my control, but this… this sure as shit is. And that’s what you’re needing to compete against, Chris. Not this idea that you’ve constructed of me, but the real fucking deal. And you still haven’t figured the real me out yet.

But hey, at least we get to meet the president, right?” With another turn down a side-street, the destination becomes clear. Behind a high fence and a thicket of trees, the unmistakable White House peeks through. It’s a side view, mostly obscured, but even so, it’s there. And so is he. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… save your breath. You’ve already given away your opinion on him. I don’t get much into politics, but I figure while he’s there though, maybe you can tell him yourself about how he and his buddies are pedophiles, or pod people, or part of some super secret satanist cult. Or all of the above! Maybe you could just tell him that you think that he’s a talentless fucking hack just in it for the handout and the payday. You probably wouldn’t even see the irony in that as you snuggle in lovingly to the arms of a billionaire. Fuck it though, go right ahead with whatever you want to say to Sleepy Joe. Me? I just want to use the stage he’s giving me to send a clear message to everyone…”

“Hey, champ!” an armed guard calls from a booth at a small, near-hidden entrance in the fence line. From the corners of his eyes he spies rifles at the ready. Fingers twitch on their handles, he feels it. The guard who spoke exits the booth with a small contraption in his hand. Dropping the bag to the ground, the man opens up like Christ on the cross, submitting himself to the inspection. The device beeps as the guard checks him over, and then does the same to the bag. “All clear. Head on up to the East Wing for the full scan, and the team there will show you where to get ready. They should have something for you to eat. Maybe a shower too?”

“The food can wait, I’ve got my own meal coming,” he winks. “The shower sounds good though!”

The gate opens for him and he walks through. Trudging up the path, out of earshot of the guards but still no doubt under surveillance, he turns, and makes his final promise.

“Chris, I want to use this stage to make sure that everyone knows I’m not just going to Eat Chris Chaos.

I’m going to Eat The World.”

6B: El Foreshadow Deux

Trumpets ring atop Olympus as the visitors file in.

The Godmoot is just about to begin.