Post by Dionysus on Mar 26, 2017 14:16:31 GMT -5
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Pain is a pesky part of being human, I've learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can't be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.
― C. JoyBell C.
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The scene opened to a breathtaking and glorious sunrise on the shores of Lake Calhoun. The morning was calm; only a gentle breeze cut across the lake. There were not many people outside at this hour; a single jogger completing a lap around the lake, a woman biking along the trail, and a solitary figure sitting on a bench looking over the lake. It was here Dion Necurat sat in silent contemplation. He had much on his mind; how Lester’s death had affected him, the conversation he had with Kevin Bishop after Lester’s funeral, and where he was to go next. Dion took in a deep breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs completely. He enjoyed this place, at the stillness in the morning. The pompous wealthy were not causing a commotion on their yachts, no children screeching at the top of their lungs. There was peace here.
“I thought I’d find you here,” said a voice from behind him, and feeling hands clutch gently against his shoulders.
Dion turned his head to the side, seeing Amy Esteed standing behind him. Her smile was as warm as the morning sunrise, and he couldn’t help but smile in return, albeit thin. Amy kept a hand on his shoulder as she walked to sit next to Dion, her arm now wrapped across his back. Slowly, Dion reached his hand up to his shoulder, taking her hand and bringing her arm around to his front. He held her hand gently, admiring the lines. “Hmm…I see…in your future…you will have to deal with a man in a beard,” he joked, putting two fingers to his temple and pretending to focus his mind.
Amy let out a gasp. “Why, you are right!” she exclaimed. “You surely are a powerful psychic!” She giggled after a second. She moved her hand from his, placing her palm against Dion’s cheek. He felt cold to the touch. “Have you been out here all morning?” she asked, concerned.
Dion did not look at her, instead looking out toward the lake. “Since six, I’d wager. I didn’t really check the clock,” Dion sighed. He had bags under his eyes; the last few nights he was restless. At last, he turned to look at Amy. Dion noted that she was panting lightly and was slightly flush in the face; he gathered that she had tried looking for him and ran here in order to find out where he was. “I don’t know…if what I did was right.”
Amy took her hand away, setting it into her lap. “Are you talking about with Kevin and the Brotherhood?” she asked. Dion had talked to her about the connection he had with his friends at the farmstead and the camping grounds. “I know it was difficult to part ways with them…but I also know you make decisions that are usually for the best,” she said, smiling.
Dion rubbed his hands across his face. “It still keeps me up at night,” he said with exhaustion. “This was a man who gave me an opportunity to learn, to turn my life around. And I threw his personal problems in his face, as if his issues were also mine. I know they shouldn’t matter to me…hell, I have enough on my plate as it is.” He tugged at his beard, a grim expression crossed his face. “I worry I may have ruined a friendship in the process of alleviating myself of unneeded stress…”
Amy shook her head. “No, Dion, you didn’t,” she said. “You are in control of your own life. Whatever it is you need to do to feel healthy, that is what you need to do. If that means you need to spend time away from someone who is causing you to be unhealthy, then I’m sure he understands.”
Dion took a deep breath. He wondered how his friendship with Bishop and the others would be affected, but he didn’t share those thoughts with Amy. “It will be a strange transition,” he said. “In my time in WCF, I had spent most with a group of people who could support me. Now, I’ll be out there on my own, holding myself up.” Dion had a sudden realization cross his mind, as he reached under the collar of his shirt. He withdrew a small medallion, engraved with ivy and grapes. There was writing in Greek around the edges. Dion rubbed the pendant instinctually. “Well, I suppose not entirely alone…”
Amy saw the pendant. “A gift?” she asked.
“From my father, yes.” Dion showed the pendant fully to Amy, who took it into her hands. She admired the craftsmanship, rubbing her thumb across the engravings. “The phrase is written in Greek. I had a friend translate it for me.”
“Oh? And what does it say?” Amy asked with curiosity.
“’Under his eye, you will never be alone,’” he recited. Dion took the pendant back, tucking it back under his shirt. “I received this at a young age, when my father…well…” Dion trailed off.
Amy’s expression hardened. “Dion, you’re always closed off about your past. If this relationship is going to work, we can’t hide anything from each other!” She took his hand and held it firm, almost too hard. “I have told you most of my life, but I know so little of you. So please…what is haunting you?”
Dion looked at Amy in shock; he had never heard her raise her voice like that. She was right; he had always been closed off about his past. “…Very well,” he said, after pausing. “But you must promise to listen to every word, and not interrupt.”
Amy nodded, smiling. “Of course, Dion. Anything for you.”
Dion took a deep breath, and began to tell Amy his life story.
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Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.
― C.S. Lewis
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“Just so you know…I don’t like to talk much about my past. It is not that I feel ashamed of what has happened to me before; rather, I have felt, over many years of coping with my past, that it had been too painful to share with many people. There were nights that I would lie awake, a cold sweat covering my entire body, overwhelmed by what I had gone through. That said, I know I can trust you, Amy, with anything I tell you. That is why I will share with you, not in the greatest of detail, but a good portion of how I grew up, life without my father, and the fateful accident that put my mother into a memory ward.”
“As you well know, my mother was an educator for many years, specializing in elementary grades and special needs. My father, meanwhile, was a professional wrestler, whose main focus was the Midwest circles. I remember briefly being told how my parents met; my mother had gone to her school late one night to collect some work she needed to do, all the while a wrestling show was taking place. My father bumped into her in the hallway, and she fell to the ground, her paperwork spreading across the ground. She was alright, just a scrape on her knee and arm, but she had mentioned how mad she was. The odd part was that she was mad at herself for not being careful. Regardless, my father helped her up, and gathered all of her paperwork, despite her protests. She kept a close eye on the wrestling schedule afterward, and would intentionally leave work on her desk to give her a reason to come in later. Eventually, she bought her way in to a show to watch just what he did. He won that night, I remember my mother telling me. They met afterward for a celebratory cup of coffee (my father was not a drinker, thankfully) and were inseparable after that. It was another two years before he proposed to my mother in a wrestling ring, and were married in June. They were incredibly happy.”
“There was tension between the two after I was born, however. My father wanted to work more shows to make sure we had enough to live on, while my mother insisted that he remain in the area. Looking back, I could see both sides of their arguments, and neither was technically wrong. My mother wanted to make sure I had a father figure in my life, and my father wanted to ensure that we wouldn’t be struggling. My uncle, Anton, had given my father a third option; remain in the area and open a federation with him, along with a wrestling school and gym. It had never occurred to my father that he could be a booker and a teacher, and after researching working both roles, he decided to remain.”
“So, my childhood revolved around the world of wrestling. I worked in the gym at a young age…or rather, as young as I was permitted to work. I did simple things, however; cleaned windows, put away unused equipment (the equipment I could pick up, anyway), swept the ring after it was used. Very simple, easy tasks. It was how I earned an allowance. From this gym, I watched many competitors come and go, some eager to begin on this path, others talking big only to walk away. My favorites were out-of-town competitors who would teach them what they learned when they traveled. My father kept a good relationship with most everyone he interacted with, and built a network of wrestlers he could count on for his house shows. For a time, we were all happy with the arrangement. That is, until I turned ten.”
“I remember this being a few weeks after my birthday. My father received a call from one of his booker friends. They wanted him to work a number of shows in Japan over the next year. The pay was incredible, and the opportunity to work with not only international competitors, but also to work in a new style of wrestling, was an incredibly tempting offer for my father. He discussed the prospect with my mother, who at first was opposed to the idea. She still wanted me to have a positive influence in my life. However, she also knew what this opportunity meant for our family and our business. Eventually, she decided it would be in our best interest if he were to work these shows. That was when my father had officially been signed by New Japan Pro Wrestling. A month later, his arrangements while in Japan, including his living accommodations and interpreter, were ready to go, and he was to fly out for an event taking place the next week. I remember seeing him off at the airport with my mother and uncle. He shook my uncle’s hand, then crouched down to face me, a bag of his belongings slung across his back. He gave me a hug, and I felt a cold line across the back and side of my neck. He whispered in my ear, “If you ever need me, or feel alone, look at this pendant and know you are never alone. I’m always with you.” He pulled away from the embrace, his eyes beginning to tear up. I knew the difficulty of leaving like this, even at a young age. As he stood to say farewell to my mother (they were kissing, and I was ten; not exactly something you want to see), I looked down at the pendant. It was the same pendant I showed you earlier, though obviously less tarnished. I had known it was a prized possession of his, and felt bad about taking this gift. It was the last time I have ever seen my father.”
“For the first few months, life was as good as it could be. My father sent a letter and care package every month, including a letter and check for my mother, and some souvenirs from Japanese competitors for me. I remember my most prized being an Ultimo Dragon mask I had asked for in a return letter to him; I received that on my birthday, as if he had planned it all along. I know now that he was making up for not being around, and showing love the best way he could. Over time, however, the letters became less frequent, though the checks continued to trickle in. Eventually, after a year, we only received checks. No letters. No packages. My mother grew concerned, and Anton flew to Japan to find out what had happened to my father. He had been gone only two weeks before returning to us…and Anton had changed.”
“My uncle was always a good businessman, though he didn’t have much of a mind for wrestling…at least, not initially. What he did well, however, was ensure that everyone was taken care of, both competitors and students, as well as our family. Over the next three years, Anton put the blame on our family for my father’s disappearance, insisting that it was my mother who wanted him to be sent away so she could collect the checks and live a lavish lifestyle. This, of course, was not true; we lived in a small suburban home and saved money where we could. The money my father sent to us was used to simply maintain the mortgage. However, Anton would not listen, and cut us off from the wrestling school and gym. Rather than negotiate with him, my mother simply signed away the rights to Anton, and I was told to never set foot in those doors again. This, as it turns out, would be an easy task.”
“The school and gym, under Anton’s control, became the center of controversy. Competitors weren’t getting paid in a timely manner, Anton was refusing treatment for the guys that were hurt, and he permitted himself a luxurious overindulgence. Whatever he could do, whether it was drink, smoke, lines, or women, he did. He lived the life of a man of wealth, despite not really having the funds to do so…at least, not through his own means. Several of the competitors filed a suit against Anton for negligence. An investigation was launched, and it was discovered he had been skimming money off the top for both ticket sales and merch sales for competitors. He had been arrested, charged, and convicted on several counts of fraud and negligence. The school and gym was immediately closed, and he was sent to prison for a long time. I believe he still resides in jail, and have not seen him since the trial.”
“This, naturally, left my mother and I in bad financial straits. While we were still receiving checks from New Japan, my mother’s pay was being cut, and it was a struggle to maintain payments on the house. This, however, was only temporary; I went to work to help where I could keep up with payments, and my mother eventually found new work in a different school district. When I was no longer needed to help maintain the house, I saved every penny I could. I wanted to go to college, and knowing our situation, I knew there were few ways I could get in on my own. At a younger age, I took up school wrestling, and discovered I was quite good at it. I suppose having a wrestler as a father would help with that, but I also think it was due to watching so many competitors over the years. I managed to make it to the high school state wrestling tournaments, winning in my weight class my junior and senior years, and otherwise having impressive records when I didn’t make the cut to state. I was contacted by the University of Minnesota and received a scholarship; a full-ride provided I wrestled for them. In college, I didn’t do as well, but I was happier receiving my education. I did help by giving pointers to others on the squad, and became something of a student coach. I ranked 11th on the college squad; not bad, but needing improvement. I graduated with a number of meet titles, two appearances at nationals, and my bachelors in both sports medicine and business.”
“From then on, I sought my luck with other wrestling schools to hone my craft. My goal was simple; unlike my mother, I was free to travel the world. I would use our only link together to try and find my father, whether he was out of the ring or standing directly across from me. For my mother’s sake, I promised to stay in the local circuits, and travel no further than the Midwest, much like my father did. I was mostly happy to finally pursue what I wanted to do most of my life. The venue didn’t matter; what did was meeting wonderful people from all walks of life. I learned then why my father fell in love with the industry. It was where he met his bride, after all. For a time, I was content in life.”
“Then…the fateful evening…”
“My mother had received special honors for her work in the schools. She had helped build up the special education program while maintaining her classroom and serving on a number of district committees. I went with her in support, along with a few of her co-workers. It wasn’t a terribly late evening; I’d say it was around 9:30 when we left. In order to get to our house, we had to cut through country roads, dark and difficult to see where the road lines were to begin with. We came to a sharp bend where we needed to turn left. I stopped, checked traffic, began my turn…”
“…and was t-boned by a vehicle on the passenger side.”
“It had blown through the stop sign while we were in mid turn. From what I gathered after seeing the lights, it didn’t even seem to stop. The vehicle blew past us, sending our car rolling into the ditch. The car came to a stop on my side of the vehicle. I tried throwing my weight to rock the car back onto its wheels, successfully getting there after some effort. Each time I threw my weight, I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder. My window had shattered completely, and the shoulder on my shirt had shredded from the fragments of glass. Two fragments were imbedded into the more tender portions of my shoulder. Aside from being rattled by the crash, I was fine. My mother, meanwhile, was in worse shape. You know, Amy, that my mother had to undergo physical therapy as part of her treatment. She had broken a leg and an arm, and the award, a plaque, struck her in the temple, leaving a gash on the side of her face. Her expression was blank, mouth agape…but she was still breathing, albeit lightly. Thankfully, my phone was not damaged by the crash. I quickly called 911, informing of the crash, and also demanding paramedics. Given we were on a country road, it took emergency responders about ten minutes to get to us. I was able to get out of the car, and get to some road flares I kept in the trunk for emergencies.”
“I was in the hospital for about three days while they operated on my shoulder. Along with the glass shards, I had also broken the shoulder. It would be some time before I regained full mobility. Even today, that shoulder remains stiff if I use it too much. As another stroke of luck, it won’t completely incapacitate me if I’m put into a hold. My mother, however, was in a worse state; as I had mentioned, her right leg and arm were broken from the impact of the crash. She had also broken a rib and cracked three more. The worst, however, was the damage to her head; the plaque had given her a concussion, and her long-term memory had been affected. The doctors had concerns that her memory may never return to her. Most of my time after the crash was spent either recovering from my own injury, and checking on my mother’s status over the next few months. I had contacted one of my cousins on my mother’s side to stay in the house while she recovered. They insisted on removing the financial burden on maintaining the house until she could come home on her own, on my aunt’s request.”
“This was a blessing, as both our medical bills began to mount up. The checks from New Japan continued to come in (bearing in mind that we still had not heard from my father), and I decided to write to their offices to contact my father about what had happened. In the letter, I insisted that he returned soon, otherwise mother would forget him entirely. On one of my visits, I had given my mother the same pendant my father had given me. I hoped it would help jog her memory. In the meantime, I opened my own multi-purpose gymnasium in order to cover my own medical expenses. I helped coach wrestlers, boxers, anyone who wanted to fight. Over time, however, with the rise of larger gyms, mine became nothing more than a shadow. I started seeing fewer and fewer clients, and eventually I opened it up as a venue for various fights. Promoters didn’t want me around during that time, so I took up residence in the upstairs offices, which eventually became something of an apartment for me. It grew harder for me to maintain a life for myself while paying my medical bills.”
“That was when WCF came knocking at my door…and the rest, you already know.”
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Amy sat intently, listening as Dion told…what was basically his life story. Her eyes watered; she had no idea how much Dion had been through in his life. “Oh Dion…” she began, but choked on her words. She was unsure what to say next.
Dion took the cue. “That is why I choose to keep my past hidden,” he said, solemn. “It is dark, filled with betrayal, pain, and loneliness. I didn’t want anyone else to know what my issues were.” He turned to face Amy, seeing the tears streak down her face. “But…you’re right. I’ve held on to this pain on my own for too long.” He let out a dark chuckle. “I didn’t even tell the brotherhood about my past. With you…I’m glad to have shared this, despite how painful it was.” Dion embraced Amy, rubbing her back to calm her down. “Do not be sad for me, Amy. I have lived with this for years. I am more appreciative that you are willing to hear my story, and to finally understand a dark part of myself.”
Amy let out a sniffle, letting her tears soak into Dion’s shirt. “Dark?”
“I don’t give my trust easy,” Dion said. “It takes a lot to earn my trust. With my upbringing, I typically believe the worst in people unless they prove to me otherwise. My brothers earned their trust by supporting me during another dark moment in my life; the loss of my business and the downward spiral I went into as a result. And with you…you took care of my mother. I know it was chance that put her under your care…but it does not change my appreciation.”
Amy pulled away, wiping tears from her eyes. She gasped slightly…and also started to giggle. “So…if it were another nurse…you’d be falling madly in love with her, and not me?” She tilted her head to the side, giving a sly wink.
Dion gave a confused look, and on the wink, realized she was joking. For the first time in a long time, he laughed. It was deep and hearty, unlike what he usually gave when he found something funny. He shook his head, a grin crossing his face. “Of course not,” Dion said. “There is only one Amy Esteed in the world. I would have found you eventually. I’m glad it happened sooner rather than later.”
The camera panned back, allowing a semblance of privacy as their silhouettes closed in on each other for a kiss.
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A trophy's value isn't measured by the worth of its metal but by the amount of work that's required to obtain it.
― Johannes Schiefer
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The scene transitioned to the Temple of Dionysus. A large statue sat in the background of the god of wine, a staff adorned with a pinecone and a coiling serpent in one hand, a decanter in the other. From the decanter flowed water into an offering pool. The room was lined with columns, pristine and untouched by time. Footsteps could be heard, and from the shadows emerged Dionysus, adorned in his usual purple suit and cane.
“The semi-finals…” he began. “Despite knowing this for months…I still cannot believe I have reached this point. It shows the work, dedication, and courage I have put into taking this opportunity for myself. I have now reached a do or die situation. I have a challenge placed before me, not by one man, but two. One I look forward to testing my mettle with, the other an interloper, a man who does not belong. Let us start with him, shall we?”
A dais rose behind as Dionysus walked off-camera briefly. He returned, setting a burlap sack on the dais, his cane leaning on the back of the dais, out of the camera shot. “Alexi James Yaroslav. Better known by the WCF Universe as Jaymz. An imposing figure in his own right; standing at seven foot two inches, weighing roughly twenty-six stone. Jaymz is definitively the powerhouse of the faction known as Zero Tolerance. Now, our dear Jaymz has only been with us for a short time, but in that time, he certainly has made his large presence known. He has won many accolades in his short tenure, a title to boot, and won the opportunity to be-…Oh, sorry, I was mistaken. He has yet to win any title in WCF. Some of you might say, ‘But Dionysus, whose wine flows freely, surely you’re forgetting the Zero Tolerance title!’” Dionysus laughed deeply. “Well, for those of you who ask, allow me to show you what I think of the Zero Tolerance title.”
Dionysus reached into the bag, retrieving…a trophy.
Dionysus gestured toward the trophy, imitating Vana White. “This, fellow revelers…is a participation trophy!” he said, showing off his jazz hands. “Indeed, the Zero Tolerance title is simply an award made for the purpose of making one feel superior without putting in any real effort. I mean really, he defeated Erik Black, a man who has been on the losing side since his arrival in WCF. Now tell me, how is that in any way impressive?”
Dionysus shook his head. “But of course, he also won a chance to be part of the Trilogy tournament. Yes, a singular effort against unspeakable odds, as he stood alone in a battle roy-…Ah, but of course!” he slapped himself comically on the forehead. “How could I forget? You simply were lucky enough to get the pinfall for your team. A team, I’d like to point out, only made worthwhile by having Wade Moor being part of it. So, what does this win signify for you? Well…”
Dionysus reached back into the bag…withdrawing another trophy.
Dionysus showered the new trophy with jazz hands. “Look here! Another participation trophy!” Dionysus straightened up, taking hold of his cane again. “Indeed, that match was a signal to the rest that, hey, you might not have been good enough to enter the tournament, but in case anyone who earned their place can’t get in, you have a slight chance of making it!” Dionysus shook his head. “Let us face reality, Jaymz; your career, up to this point, has been nothing more than earning meaningless brownie points in order to generate one single spark of interest. Even attacking Teddy Blaze and myself after our match last week was…well, simply uninteresting. I had heard from some fans wondering why a jobber had attacked us. When I told them he was the tournament runner-up participant, they laughed. If you truly want to compete with me, then heed this advice.”
On that word, Dionysus swept his cane across the dais in a backhand swing, knocking both trophies off the dais. The clatter of the metal against the marble floor echoed throughout the chamber. Dionysus mocked shading his eyes as he squinted in the distance. “Hmm…I usually hit further than that…ah well, no consequence.” He turned back to the camera. “Jaymz, my advice to you is simply to lay down and take the pin. Zero Tolerance is teetering on failure. It seems that your little group can only fail. As I have said many times, I can admit my own faults in myself, and work to improve. That, Jaymz, is how I earned my way into this tournament, and was able to defeat a capable opponent such as The Captain. You, however, decided to take an easier road, to jump the line when you, and everyone else around you, damn well know you are not worthy of this opportunity.”
Dionysus set his cane along the dais. “’The fool thinks he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' Ah, Shakespeare. Such a word smith. These words ring true with you, Jaymz. All you see in your tunnel is gold. You do not see any chance of failure on this path. Instead, you only see what you are unable to attain. That is what makes you a fool. As for myself, I see challenges ahead. Road blocks. I currently see myself against both you and Teddy Blaze. I also see either Vinnie Jones or David Sanchez further down the path. Even further still, the WCF title and whomever holds the belt at the time. Whether it is Jason O’Neal, Frank Venable, or someone new. Acknowledging that there are bumps in the road makes me cautious, makes it easier for me to prepare for what may come. That is what makes me wise.”
Dionysus clasped his hands together. “I suppose my doubters would insist on wondering what happens to me when or if I lose. Well, I’m certainly not in control of that, now am I? I can only choose my path after making certain I have done everything possible to achieve victory. However, should I come up short, should I be proven wrong by you…well, I simply move on to the next challenge. This tournament is more to prove my capabilities, not to win a title. So long as I deliver my best work in the ring, that is victory enough for me. Should I win it all, I will, naturally, be grateful to see my hard work pay off in dividends.”
Dionysus flicked his cane into the air, catching it and twirling the cane at his side. “However, there is one thing to keep in mind, my dear Jaymz. As our match is now a Triple Threat…it means disqualifications are off the table. It means I can have my armaments at my disposal. Certainly, it also means you can bring devastation with you…but let me make something abundantly clear. I am a very capable warrior. None in WCF have seen just what I can do in a hardcore setting such as this. Best you steel yourself…for this match will be a bloodbath. And when the referee calls for the bell, I only hope that it is I who stands over your broken hulking corpse, standing as the victor. It is at that point I will give you what you rightly deserve…”
Dionysus reached his free hand into his coat pocket, withdrawing a ribbon. “Indeed. A ribbon. Consider it a token, a consolation prize to add to your consolation career. Because, you will not win…but at least…you tried.”
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Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.
― George R.R. Martin
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Dionysus turned away from the camera, letting out a soothing sigh. “Well, that certainly was invigorating, wasn’t it?” he said, as he snapped his fingers. The scene instantly changed from the temple to the interior of a well-decorated sitting room. A plush forest green carpet covered the floor, hardwood adoring the walls. A hearth was roaring off to one side, the flames dancing as the air billowed around the fireplace. Where the dais was sat instead an old sitting chair, an oak end table standing next to the chair. The chair was adorned in navy blue, with touches of gray across the back. On the end table sat a bottle of red wine, a glass already filled, waiting to be indulged. Dionysus stood next to the chair, his outfit changing to a purple smoking jacket and black slacks. Dionysus took a seat in the chair, taking up his wine glass. He took a sip from the glass. “Ahh…delicious. I can appreciate a good Merlot.”
Dionysus swirled the wine in his glass, admiring the color as it glowed in the firelight. He turned to the camera. “I felt this would be a more appropriate setting to discuss my other opponent. You know, the one I am actually meant to contend with. Teddy Blaze: The King of All Media. A two-time television champion, an internet title run that earned him accolades for the best internet champion the previous year, and currently the record holder of the longest people’s title reign. A very impressive resume on your part, Mr. Blaze. I have been looking forward to the day when we can finally meet in the ring.”
Dionysus took another sip from the glass. “I must admit, I am quite a fan of your work. The time you were internet champion was a time of great joy, for myself as well as many others. Of course, that time has long passed. You are now poised to reach the top of this business. Something, I will also admit, I would very much like to see. That being the case, Teddy…I do not see you reaching the heights.”
Dionysus set his glass to the side. “Now, by this I mean, I do not see Teddy Blaze as the one to reach the championship. I see another man; one of valor, distinction, and the embodiment of a hero. I am, of course, referring to Teo del Sol. The man who was a champion of the people. A man who can captivate and win the hearts of millions without the need of memes. Mr. Blaze, I can certainly understand how much Mexico affected you. It was because of that time that you reverted to your old self; a man driven by bitterness and eliminating weakness. But you see, Mr. Blaze, in making such a conversion, you have made yourself weaker.”
Dionysus took up his glass again, taking a deep draw from it. “Ahh…” he sighed. “Now, what do I mean by it made you weaker? You have won titles since this conversion, yes? But has that made you happy? Has that led you down a path that has allowed you to flourish? And if not, then why not? Is this change what you truly wanted? Or has your past, much as mine does, haunt you to this day?”
Dionysus shook his head. “Oh, but don’t fear, Mr. Blaze, for every weakness contains within itself a strength. You found a new purpose in wanting to have WCF become stronger, to have better competition. That is admirable, to have a goal to work for. While the method of going about making our dear federation stronger is not one I would condone, I can certainly understand the need for strength. With that in mind, however, consider what we currently have. If the WCF were a set of mountains, those who have talent are one enormous peak, while those without create…yet another enormous peak. There is a gap in the middle. Surely, Teddy, you can see how this goes against your policy of only wanting strength in the WCF.”
Dionysus stood from the chair, stretching his arms and back. “Of course, I cannot fault you for this. It is not up to you, after all, who Seth Lerch decides to hire or not. I think you and I differ on a key component on what the federation needs. You desire strength, from others and yourself, so you wish to weed through the weakness. While I too wish to see growth, I choose instead to bolster those who have the opportunity for success, instead of going through the motions of dealing with the rabble. After all, if we do not strengthen and empower those who are already reaching those points of success, then what hope is there for the others? I can tell you; none. No hope. The WCF does not need a man like Teddy Blaze. The WCF needs Teo del Sol back. The WCF needs a hero; that hero, I see in you.”
Dionysus points definitively at the camera. “But let this also serve as a warning. Despite how I feel about you as a person, whether I admire you or not, what I think of you as a person…it does not change that come Explosion, you and I stand on different sides of the ring. We may have to deal with an interloper in Jaymz. We may have to fight off all of Zero Tolerance in order for one of us to be victorious. Hell, we may have to contend with Seth Lerch making another snap decision to add the entire roster to this match. However, let me make this plain. Any truces that are made in this match, they are snapped once it comes to the pinfall. We stand as opponents, each with our own goals, desires, dreams. It will inevitably come down to who wants this more.”
Dionysus turned his head slightly, as though to acknowledge a third person in the room. “Mr. Yaroslav, this goes for you as well. We each stand to gain everything, and lose everything, at Explosion. Teddy Blazes’s shot at redemption, Jaymz’s chance to bring Zero Tolerance back into prominence, and my continued rise, to prove my worth to the WCF. No matter what this match does to each of us, we are here for a reason. Despite my harsh words, we can only do one thing at Explosion.”
“We can only fight.”
“We can only win.”
“We can only ensure that our match…is the greatest match of the tournament. I look forward to seeing what you two are truly, undeniably capable of. Until then, gentlemen…prepare yourselves.”
Dionysus turned toward the fireplace, admiring the flames, as the camera faded to black.
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There comes a point when you either embrace who and what you are, or condemn yourself to be miserable all your days. Other people will try to make you miserable; don't help them by doing the job yourself.”
― Laurell K. Hamilton
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The scene changes to the interior of the memory care facility in which Dion’s mother, Sophia Necurat, resides. Dion Necurat stood outside his mother’s room, holding a vase of her favorite flowers; a sunflower at the top of the arrangement, surrounded by a sea of lilies and baby’s breath, all nestled in a polished purple vase. Dion needed to see his mother right away, having much to tell her about the decisions he made in his life. He moved to knock at the door, stopping slightly, wondering if now was the best time to have this conversation. Dion shook the doubt from his mind, knocking on her door.
“Come in,” a soft voice said from behind the door. “The door is unlocked.”
Dion accepted the invitation, walking inside. Sophia’s room was fairly big, by comparison of other residents of the ward. It would be considered a studio apartment, aside from not having kitchen space. Near the door was a mini-fridge, and shelving which held other potted plants. Her bed was in the middle of the room, her dresser off to the left side of the bed. The far back sat a table with three chairs, a small centerpiece adorning the table, along with a plate covered in the remnants of a lunch. Dion turned toward the plants near the front, seeing his mother, Sophia, watering the plants. Sophia was much shorter than Dion, though not considerably short. Her hair was a touch of brown and blonde, and starting to show gray in a few places. As she turned to face Dion, her face lit up; while her memory was not the greatest, she still recognized her son. A few trace lines of age were showing on her face, along with the scar from that fateful evening.
Dion smiled in return, presenting the flower vase to her. “I figured you could use more flowers,” he said.
“Oh, how thoughtful,” Sophia replied, setting the vase on top of the fridge. “I’ll be sure to put these in a special place.” She went back to watering. “Well, make yourself at home; I’m nearly done watering.”
Dion walked over to the table on the other side of the room, taking stock of everything his mother had. They moved everything they could to make Sophia feel more comfortable. Even the dining table he recognized as one that he sat at for years as a young boy. “How are your treatments going?” he asked.
“Oh, they’re going alright,” she responded loudly. She was buried behind the plants trying to water them. “They tell me I get better at remembering things every day. I might even be discharged two months ahead of schedule at my current rate.”
Dion was shocked. “That’s…that’s amazing, mom!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.”
She pulled herself out of the plants with a big smile on her face. “Oh, well, you know me; always been the hard worker…or at least, that’s what they told me. I’m afraid I still don’t remember much before the crash, but I know it will come back to me.” She wiped her hands on her blouse, walking over to the table where Dion sat. Sophia sat down next to her son, her “teacher face” now on. “Well, I know I wasn’t expecting you to come and visit me today…and really, you could come and visit more,” she said sternly. Despite the hardness in her words, she still smiled at him.
Dion looked away as though he were a child and being scolded for making a mess. “I know, mom. I’ve had…a busy couple of days. You see…a good friend of mine passed away. I was out at his funeral the last few days.”
Sophia’s expression shifted from happiness to mournful. “Oh dear…I’m so sorry to hear that,” she replied. Sophia rubbed Dion’s arm. “I hope you are doing alright.”
Dion looked back up, with tears in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he choked out, though it was obvious he was not fine. “I…when I was out there…looking over his grave…I couldn’t help but think-, “ he cut himself off, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I couldn’t help but think what would happen if…if I were to lose you. I would be alone. Completely alone.” Dion did his best to wipe the tears from his face, knowing that it was only in front of his mother where he could be vulnerable.
Sophia took her son into her arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. “Oh my dear, sweet, brave boy. It’s okay to ask those questions. It is difficult to know how people cope when they lose a loved on. But over time, they remember the positive impact they left on their lives. They carry on living, with their memory in their mind and their hearts.”
The words “they carry on” weighed on Dion, though he knew his mother was correct. He held his mother tightly. “I wanted to tell you, mom, why I wanted to become a wrestler. It was so I could find out what happened to dad. I know he’s out there somewhere. I want to find him, and bring him back here to see you. That way, you would never forget him, and know that he still cared about us…no, about you.”
Sophia’s grip on her son loosened. When Dion pulled away, he saw his mother’s face…filled with regret. “Oh, Dion…it is sweet of you to have a great reason for following in your father’s footsteps…but I have a confession to make to you now…”
She sat back upright, her hands in her lap. She started to rub each one in her lap, contemplating the words she would tell Dion. “The truth is…I forgot about your father a long time ago,” she confessed.
Dion’s expression was blank. How could this have happened? Was he too late? Had her long-term memories already gone? “Mother…what do you- “
Sophia held her hand up. “Oh, don’t be mistaken,” she interrupted. “I didn’t mean to say that I lost all memory of your father. What I mean is…I gave up waiting on your father.”
Dion leaned back in his chair, still in awe over what his mother had just revealed to him. “But…but how? Why?”
Sophia shook her head. “Well, it wasn’t as though I wanted to give up on him. When he stopped sending his notes, I grew concerned. I thought, ‘well, maybe it was lost in the mail,’ or he hadn’t slipped the note in that time, being in a rush. It really wasn’t until I received the sixth check after he stopped writing where I thought, ‘he quit on us. He wants to support us, but he doesn’t want anything to do with us.’ I still sent him your letters, but he never did reply. It was then that I decided I wouldn’t wait for him to return our letters, to tell us what was happening.” As she spoke, Sophia’s eyes were turning red, with tears beginning, slightly, to flow down her face. “I thought it was something I had done. Should I have been more supportive of his dreams? Should I have tried to travel along with him? But then what about you?” She put a hand on Dion’s knee. “I wanted you to grow up a normal boy, not worrying where the next stop was or whether we would need to worry about eating, but instead worrying about your math homework or playing with your friends. I knew that this wasn’t the life he wanted…so I just decided I would let him go and live his dream.” Sophia looked at her hand, where her wedding band remained on her finger. “I see this ring as a reminder of a time when we were both in love with each other, and willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to start a life together. To raise a family and live in peace. Maybe I hoped for too much.”
Dion shook his head, putting his hand over his mother’s. “That’s not true, mom,” he said. “I know you still remember dad…maybe not everything, but what is important to you. I know that deep down, somewhere, there is a part of you that still cares for him, and wants to see him come home. I remember one day working in the gym, and he was talking about how he couldn’t be around for the next show because of previous plans. The other bookers were furious with him, but dad put his foot down and told them off. That was your wedding anniversary, mom. Despite everything that dad did, he always made sure to make time for us.” Dion reached down his shirt collar to retrieve the pendant his father gave him. “He gave me this pendant when he left, do you remember?”
Sophia’s eyes shifted to Dion’s pendant, and gave an expression as though to think, until she gave up trying. “I’m sorry…but I can’t remember a detail like that,” she said with sorrow.
“Dad gave this to me to remember him by,” Dion continued. “He told me, no matter how alone I felt, that so long as I had this pendant, I would never be alone. He always wore this; I’m sure you saw it before. He wouldn’t just give me something like this if he didn’t intend to return one day to retrieve it.” Dion’s eyes flashed for a moment, as he reached around his back to remove the necklace. He held it loose in his hand, then began to curl his fingers inward, clutching the pendant tightly. “I have…I have someone who no longer makes me feel alone, mom.” He handed his mother the pendant. “I’m sure dad would like you to have it.”
Sophia brought her hands to her mouth, letting out a light gasp. There was a sudden realization on her face. “That pendant…I…I remember…I gave that pendant to him. He told me how he had Greek relatives, and I saw the pendant in a flea market…Oh, I can’t believe he kept this all those years!” she exclaimed, gently taking the pendant from Dion. She rubbed her thumb along the engraving. “Glen…oh Glen…”
Dion wanted to ask more about his father, but he also knew his mother had just had an emotional confession. He didn’t want to push his luck any further than he did. “Mom…” Dion said. “I want to make another promise to you. I promise…no matter how bad things get for you or for me…I will always make time to come and see you more often. I want you to know people from my life, and to be as much a part of it as possible. I know I have been busy with travel and the foundation lately, but I will always make time to see you. I want to make you a priority in my life.”
Sophia looked up, now smiling, tears still streaming down her face. “Thank you, Dion. I will treasure this pendant, and I always treasure you. I love you, my sweet, darling boy.” She gave Dion another hug.
Dion returned the hug, being gentle. “I love you too, mom. I have to head out in a few minutes, but we can talk about whatever you want.”
Sophia withdrew from the hug, wiping the tears from her face. “Well, since you did say whatever I want…” she paused, giving Dion her teacher face once again. “Just who is this person who doesn’t make you feel alone?”
Dion’s cheeks flushed red, taken aback by the question. Then he laughed. “Would you believe me if I told you…its actually your primary nurse?”
Sophia’s eyes went wide. “You don’t mean Amy, do you?!”
“The very same, mom!”
The two of them laughed together. Sophia slapped Dion’s leg, not hard, but enough for him to react to it. “I knew it!” she said with excitement. “As soon as I saw you two the last time you visited, I knew something would happen between the two of you. Good for you!” Her expression relaxed. “Well, now I have more to talk about with Amy.”
Dion gave a polite courtly bow from where he was sitting. “Anything I can do to help, mother.” He chuckled, looking at his mother. She was positively beaming, proud that her son had met someone new.
Sophia looked at her son, not as a boy, but the man he had grown into. “Tell me…do you love her?”
Dion thought about it for a moment. This question wasn’t nearly as shocking as asking who he fancied, but he also didn’t want to cause any possible problems for her care. The question, however, was very easy for Dion to answer. “Mom…she is someone in my life who I can trust fully. She accepts my faults, and wants me to become a better person. Aside from you and dad…she’s the only person who has wanted what was best for me. So…I do love her, yes.”
Sophia nodded, smiling. “That’s good. A mother is always curious, you know.” She paused, taking Dion’s hand again. “Be sure to tell her every day, and always check in with her. You don’t want her worrying about you, after all,” she chuckled.
“Well, she worries plenty, but she’s also a nurse,” he laughed. “I think I’ll be alright, but thanks for the advice, mom.” Dion checked his watch; he was due for a meeting at 2:00 at the foundation offices. “Sorry mom, but I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow to check on you, okay?” He stood up for the door.
Sophia waved him off. “Oh, you don’t have to dote over me. Just call every so often, and visit when you’re in town.” She followed after her son, giving him one last hug and a peck on the cheek. “Take good care of yourself, okay Dion?”
Dion returned the peck on his mother’s cheek. “I will. And you keep the nurses in line, you hear?” he always joked with his mother about keeping the nurses on their toes. “I’ll see you soon.” With that, Dion walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.
Sophia walked over to the table, retrieving the pendant Dion had given her. She held the pendant in her hand, wondering where her missing husband could possibly be.
------------------------------------------
In an abandoned gymnasium in Arden Hills, a shadowy figure sat at a desk, paperwork sprawled out in front of them. The camera panned, a dim light barely showing the silhouette of Albert Divine. He was sifting through various documents when he heard a crash in the gym. Albert stood upright, grabbing for his lion-head cane. He walked out of the office into the gym proper. “H…hello?” he said timidly.
Suddenly, a body was flung over the side of the ring in the middle of the gym, the side facing the office. Albert rushed over to Ironsides, the elderly strongman. He was covered in bruises, but was breathing and otherwise fine. Albert then felt a grip on his throat, as a larger shadow lifted Albert up. “Wh…wha-*cough*-what do you want?” Albert begged.
Another shadow chuckled darkly, stepping out into a thin ray of light. The man’s head was the only part of him you could see clearly. He appeared in his fifties, the sides of his head shaved, bald on top. A scar cut down his left eye, which, in place of the eye, was a patch of a single silver rose. “Hello, Mr. Divine,” the man said. “I do believe we must discuss your dealings with my nephew…”
“…Dion Necurat…”