Carnal Contendership, both the event and the titular match itself, is over.
Championships have been won. Championships have been defended…barely. And the main event of Back in Business has been determined.
For FWA referee Richard Davis, still suffering from the vicious attack that he endured in the events opening contest, it’s a bit of a somber thought as he’s backstage, searching the bowels of the Sphere theater as FWA personnel and wrestlers have already begun to file out to find rest or reverie in the City of Sin. However, Richard’s been around long enough to know that a certain wrestler has a habit of being the last to leave as much as he’s the first to arrive at any given event.
Referees are supposed to be impartial, and never show favoritism towards any specific wrestler. And sure, when the bell rings and the action begins in the squared circle? Richard Davis has always and will always call the matches down the middle and enforce whatever the rules of the contest is.
But…that doesn’t mean that there isn’t respect that extends well beyond whatever happens between the ropes.
And certainly, even regrets about the outcomes of the matches themselves.
It takes Richard a while to find him, but eventually he does. Not in the locker room, not where catering was set up, nor in the trainer’s room.
Richard Davis finds Cyrus Truth sitting on a staircase outside of the Sphere, nursing the myriad of bruises, aches, and pains with an ice pack he likely nicked from one of FWA’s medical team. But The Exile is not alone, as his tag team partner and Fallout commentator Konchu Hao is standing nearby with his minion Epsilon.
It seems, as Richard observes, that he’s not the only one that has regrets about how events went down tonight.
“Truth, I must apologize again profusely for not being here for your World Title match. I suspect that those reprobates sabotaged my rental vehicle, and finding public transportation is always a bloody mess during FWA events. But I SHOULD have been here. I should’ve found a way to make sure that those wretched cretins and that barbaric lout did not have the chance to intervene and…”
“Konchu, relax, it’s fine.”
“Bloody hell it is! This continues to happen to you when you’re within micrometers of reclaiming the World Title, and it’s abhorrent that FWA management will do nothing to correct it. That imbecile Russnow is about as effective as mammary glands on a…”
“Hey…Cyrus?”
Richard’s voice cuts through the conversation mid-Konchu rant as all three FWA talents turn their attention to the referee. Richard, despite being about as imposing as a referee can be in the sport of professional wrestling, nevertheless nervously approaches The Exile and The Mad Wizard, head somewhat low and voice somewhat muted.
“Hey…I, uh…I just wanted to say ‘Sorry’ about what happened in the cage tonight. I tried to keep Stache and Amigo out, but…”
Konchu cuts him off with a biting, angry interjection.
“Well, you should be damn well sorry! The entire point of the cage and you being out there was to keep those horrid wretches from interfering! You should have exercised your authority and forced them to leave ringside immediately!”
“It was a cage match, I didn’t think…”
“YES! That was the folly! You did not THINK, and because of that? Truth is not the World Champion, as he damn well should…”
“Konchu! Enough!”
Konchu, normally not one to be cowed by anyone, immediately clams up as Cyrus barks out his own rebuttal, speaking with force and authority despite the evident pain etched on his face. Cyrus then turns his gaze to Richard Davis, who seemingly braces himself for a proper lashing from the man who lost his championship match due, in part, to his inability to control the interference from the Friendship Wrestling Alliance.
But, as he stands ready to take everything on the chin, something every good referee ends up doing at one point or another in their career, he’s absolutely floored by what Cyrus says next:
“Hey, are you alright? You took a pretty nasty chair shot from Baxter.”
Did…did one of the most anti-social wrestlers in FWA history, a man who commands and demands as much excellence from his peers and those in his purview as much as he does himself, just ask Richard Davis…a lowly referee, if HE was all right?
Without any bitterness or irony?
Richard looks at Cyrus and sees that…yeah. There’s a look of legitimate concern on Cyrus’s face. It’s not overt, and not as if The Exile’s expression belays any REAL concern…but the question is still genuine.
Richard scratches the back of his head sheepishly as he eventually answers.
“Um...I’m…I’m okay. My back hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll be okay. Heh…kind of reminds me of my football days, to be honest. Lot more painful than getting tackled out of my cleats, though.”
“Yeah…I imagine so.”
Cyrus, slowly, rises to his feet and starts to walk over to Richard. However, before he can reach him, he staggers and falls to a knee. The Exile winces and clutches his head, the after-effects of Baxter’s chair shot to his skull still there, only exacerbated by competing in the Carnal Contendership Match.
Epsilon immediately goes to Truth’s side as Konchu reaches out to help him. Cyrus, however, calmly brushes The Mad Wizard’s hand aside as he grabs Epsilon’s shoulder and uses him as a crutch to get back to his feet. Shaking some of the cobwebs out of his mind, Cyrus gives Konchu and Epsilon a reassuring look, telling them without words that while he’s definitely hurting, he’ll be okay.
Cyrus Truth approaches Richard Davis and extends his hand.
“I appreciate you trying, Rich. Lots of referees wouldn’t go through the trouble and risk getting their shit stomped in, but you did. Thanks for that.”
Richard looks floored by the graciousness on display from one of wrestling’s most vicious and demanding misanthropes, but he eventually shakes off the initial shock and takes the offered hand.
As the two shake, Konchu tilts his head as if he’s just as confused by this display as the referee.
“Well…I suppose if you’re all right with it, I can be as well. Although I am still confused. Not only were you robbed of the World Title by that gaggle of rakehells and that brutish blackguard Baxter, but you came up short in Carnal Contendership in the same night.”
“Just because I’m not losing my shit over it, Konchu? Doesn’t mean you have to remind me about it. The near concussion from Baxter’s chair shot is more than enough of a reminder.”
“That being said, I am still perplexed. I was fully expecting you to be absolutely apoplectic.”
“Yeah, not gonna lie? I thought you’d be pissed off about how tonight went down.”
“Why would I be?”
Cyrus leans against a nearby handrail next to a set of stairs leading out to the parking lot and out of the Sphere. He takes a deep breath, still suffering the effect of having not only the brutal loss to Jeremy Best, but the stress of competing in Carnal Contendership.
“Krash is back, boys. Yeah, I could be absolutely livid about tonight, and I probably am deep down. But, in the end? One of my friends has come back. How could I stay mad? Besides, I’m in the Golden Opportunity match, so it’s not as if this is the end of the journey back to the World Title.
“But…damn it to hell.”
Cyrus groans as his brow furrows and he leans back, trying desperately to stretch his back muscles to alleviate some of the punishment they took tonight. It’s another cold desert night in Las Vegas as Cyrus turns his gaze to the stars above.
“Competing in a cage match AND Carnal Contendership probably wasn’t my best idea. If I hadn’t lucked out with a late entry draw, tonight would’ve really sucked. But, The Road takes you wherever you’re supposed to go, even if you have to take a detour or seven to get there. And I’ll look forward to winning Golden Opportunity and using it to get a title shot against Krash when he puts an end to the Friendship Freaks’ nonsense once and for all.”
“Hmm…a lovely thought, but it seems a bit unlikely, if you ask me. You were in the ring with him, so perhaps you saw something I didn’t at commentary. But it appears that there were some…complications. Krash does not appear to be completely recovered from what that fiend did to him.”
“Didn’t expect him to be. I’ve been trying to reach out to him over the last year, but I haven’t really gotten any calls back from him.”
“Nor have I. Certainly, he defeated Best at Back in Business last year, but…”
“Don’t worry about it. Krash will pull through.”
Both Konchu and Richard are a bit stunned by Cyrus’s proclamation. The Exile turns and, seeing the confused faces of the commentator and referee, simply shrugs and smiles.
“I have faith. I know Krash. Best and his boys are screwed.”
Cyrus lets out a sigh. It’s a bit haggard, considering that Cyrus has basically competed in two full matches and likely suffered some severe trauma to his head thanks to Baxter and Best. But The Exile, at least for now, is not dwelling on that.
The main event of Back in Business won’t be his this year. At least, not for the World Title. But the World Title wasn’t completely out of his reach. And perhaps…
Perhaps an avenue to correct something that has long been allowed to fester and corrupt has presented itself.
“Hey, Cyrus? You sure you’re alright? You kind of zoned out there for a second.”
“Hmm?”
Cyrus, lost in his thoughts that are currently marinating in a soup of haze and pain, shakes his head to remove the cobwebs. He looks at Richard and Konchu and nods.
“Yeah, but I think I’m done for the evening. FWA’s booked a doctor’s appointment in the morning to make sure that I’m still going to be cleared for the upcoming shows and I ABSOLUTELY need to find a hot tub if I’m going to get any sleep tonight. Rich?”
The referee, a bit startled at being addressed again, looks at Cyrus with his full attention.
“Thanks again. I’d be happy to have you ref any of my matches. And…don’t worry about tonight. You did as good a job as anybody could’ve expected under the circumstances.
“Konchu? We’ll talk tomorrow. There’s some things we need to discuss.”
“Of course. Restful evening to you, Truth.”
“Belloc quaz, Varzos!”
“Thanks, Eps. See you all soon.”
Cyrus Truth is certainly exhausted. His head is screaming in pain, his legs are wobbling like jelly.
But, he still manages to walk away into the night under his own power. Perhaps not as champion, but certainly as a warrior king.
Left alone, Konchu watches as his friend, robbed yet again of the glory he’s worked so hard for, suffered so much for, disappear into the darkness to find succor and relief.
Richard Davis, for his part, seems both relieved and a bit perplexed by that whole exchange.
“I have to say, that man’s something else. Just about everybody else that’s ever walked down the ramp would’ve been calling for fucking blood.”
“And you don’t think he is?”
Richard turns to Konchu with that retort. The Mad Wizard, who never stops looking off in the direction that Cyrus has wandered off to, continues to speak to the FWA official.
“While I am content that Truth is not allowing his anger to control him as it has in the past, do not be mistaken in thinking that it isn’t there. I know Truth better than most. The Exile is a man who suffers such ignoble actions as were on display by our champion’s henchmen with a great, roiling rage. It will simmer. Perhaps even boil over and consume him. But woe be the poor unfortunate bastards who dare to stand against him.
“Recall, Mr. Davis…when Christopher Peacock stole the win in last year’s Back in Business main event? Truth burned his entire world down around him. Jeremy Best, regardless of whether Krash is the man to end his reign or not, will most certainly be no different. And personally? I can’t wait to watch the carnage that is to come.”
There’s several seconds of silence that seem like an eternity as the weight of The Mad Wizard’s summation weighs heavily. Richard eventually sighs as he shrugs.
“Cyrus Truth is a hard son of a bitch, isn’t he?”
“Harder than stone, Mr. Davis. Well, then. I should probably take my leave as well. Good night to you.”
“Yeah. You too.”
With a nod that is quickly reciprocated by the faithful minion, Konchu leads Epsilon away from Richard Davis, leaving the referee alone with just his thoughts, most of them focused on the exchange of words between him, the Mad Wizard, and The Exile.
Still suffering his own fair share of pain thanks to Baxter’s steel chair, Richard lets out a low groan and wince as he simply says:
“Things aren’t going to get any easier for me and the boys. Heh…the life of an FWA ref, I guess…”
*******
Five days after Carnal Contendership, our scene has changed from the glitz and glamor of a desert city where vices are readily catered to and dreams are regularly indulged and shattered in equal measure…to a beach somewhere on the East Coast. Far away from the tourist traps and hustle and bustle of revelers looking to soak in the sun and salt of the sea, there’s no white-bleached sand or vendors hocking tchotchke wares. This beach is rough and jagged, more stone than sand. This is a place not for sunbathing or surfing, but for contemplation.
A perfect place for a man like Cyrus Truth, having to find his center after a tumultuous Carnal Contendership.
The Exile sits on one of the larger rocks jutting out into the Atlantic, cross-legged on a spread-out towel, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. The sun has begun to set as a noticeable breeze rolls through, making the late spring day turning to night a bit chillier than expected.
The hairs on Cyrus’s arms stand on end, the hair on his head flutters as the sound of waves crashing against the rocks provides the soundtrack for his meditation. The scars of countless battles are a roadmap on the body of The Vagabond King, an atlas of a journey that has forged this wayward soul into the warrior and champion he’s been in professional wrestling. A journey that’s been a crucible of fire, blood, and pain.
And pain is certainly evident from Cyrus’s expression. Despite the valiant attempts at calm and detachment from the physical, The Exile is still nursing quite a lot of pain from Carnal Contendership. The rigors of two highly-taxing matches along with the vicious chair shot that BARELY didn’t result in a full concussion are not so easily recovered from. Cyrus, using the meditative techniques he learned from his days as an Observer acolyte, can’t help but fidget, as stone makes for a poor seat when you’re covered in bruises.
Still, Cyrus sits in silence. There’s a great many things that the Carnal Contendership event had put into motion. Some that tangentially affect The Exile, like the main event rematch between Krash and Best for the World Title that Best’s flunkies denied Truth. Others that more directly and immediately require his attention, like the upcoming Golden Opportunity that Cyrus has once again qualified for.
But there’s a dangerous road between here and there. While the main event at Back in Business has been set in stone barring any truly horrendous complications, the remainder of the event is most certainly not. And every wrestler worth their salt will clamor over one another to earn, claim, or steal a marquee spot at FWA’s biggest event of the year.
This would be treacherous enough had The Exile had to concern himself with the folks on the roster that have been there. But Carnal Contendership, as it always does, has tempted a handful of wrestlers from the shadows of obscurity for a chance at ultimate glory.
Some, like Krash, are most welcome to have back. And their absence until the return? Understandable.
Others?
Well…
“WELL, FUCK YOU TOO! YOU UNGRATEFUL SON OF A BITCH!”
…Shit.
Cyrus is disciplined enough to not let physical pain or his own wandering thoughts break his concentration when he’s trying to meditate and find his center.
Outside distractions? Not as much. Nobody’s perfect.
Opening his eyes for the first time in many minutes, The Exile turns his head to the source of the outburst. Walking onto the beach with a cellphone in her hands is a woman with dark red hair and freckles, wearing a white dress with sunflowers on it.
She wouldn’t be too out of place for a trip out to the coast, but judging by the look of anger and frustration on her face, her visit isn’t predicated on a desire to relax and bask. And while Cyrus isn’t necessarily trying to eavesdrop on her conversation, her shouting makes it hard not to listen in.
“That bitch comes back into your life and you go crawling back to her? No, I don’t care if you think you love her. Oh…OH, you didn’t want to hurt me? Well, GOOD FUCKING JOB! Fuck off!”
The woman immediately hangs up on the call to whoever she was talking to and, clearly without thinking, throws the phone into the ocean. It takes a couple of seconds for her to realize what she’s done as she unleashes another storm of curses.
Eventually, the swearing ends as the woman, clearly exhausted and emotionally drained, simply drops as she sits on the beach, trying her best to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes.
Cyrus, for his part, isn’t quite sure what to make of all this. Certainly, he knows more or less what’s going on, but…is this really something he wants to get involved with?
…Yeah. Not because he cares about drama or any of that nonsense. But because, even in spite of all the ups and downs throughout his journey down the Long and Winding Road, he’s still the same punk kid that got exiled from the Observers.
Cyrus Truth is not a man who stands by and watches when he might be able to affect change in the world.
“Hey…miss? Are you all right?”
The sound of a stranger’s voice startles the young woman as she frantically breaks out of her wallowing misery to find the source. It only takes a second, as Cyrus is very clearly not hiding as he rises to his feet from the rock that he had been sitting on.
It takes her another second or two before she finally responds.
“W-what? Who are you?”
“Just a traveler, nothing more. My name’s Cyrus, if that helps.”
“Cyrus. Yeah. Right.”
“And I was wondering what was wrong. If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look like you’re in a good place right now.”
The young woman’s fair skin turns a shade of red in embarrassment as she wipes her eyes, flicks of sand getting mixed up in the tears and sweat. Realizing she’s only making a larger mess, she frantically tries to find something to clean the grime off.
Cyrus, without saying a word, tosses his towel to the woman, mindfully not approaching her himself. As the towel lands at her feet, she’s still a bit hesitant to accept this stranger’s apparent act of kindness. However, she eventually grabs the towel and uses it to clean her face.
Somewhat mournfully, she laughs into it as she finishes wiping the sand and muck off.
“God damn it, I’m such a fucking mess. I must look absolutely pathetic, huh?”
“A little, yeah. But I doubt it’s not without a reason. Is it alright if I approach? I can stay here if that’s more comfortable for you, too.”
“No…no. It’s fine. Um…thank you, I guess. Cyrus, right?”
“Yeah. What’s your name?”
“Jess. My name’s Jess.”
With a nod of acknowledgement, Cyrus carefully climbs off the rock he had been meditating on. It does take him a bit of time, as while he’s in a lot better shape than he was after Carnal Contendership, he’s still in a fair bit of pain and soreness. After a couple of minutes, he approaches Jess and has a seat in the sand next to her, keeping a good foot of space between himself and her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable in the presence of a stranger.
“So…Jess? Do you want to talk about why you decided to throw your phone into the sea? If not, and you just want to sit here in silence or talk about something else, that’s fine, too.”
“You…you saw that?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck. That’s embarassing. Well, how much did you hear?”
“A lot of expletives and you basically yelling at someone about some other woman? I can kind of put the pieces together, but it might help you to just unpack everything.”
“Why do you care?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most would.”
“World’s a tough place. Why not help someone else on their own journey if you can?”
The sheer bluntness and sincerity in how Cyrus said surprises Jess, as it’s clear that she doesn’t fully know how to respond to that. Eventually, however, Jess’s wariness gives way to resignation as she wraps her arms around her knees and looks out into the ocean.
“...that was my boyfriend you heard me yelling at. My ex-boyfriend, I guess now. We’d been dating for…God, years now? I honestly thought that he’d be the one, you know? But…he never did propose. I suppose that should’ve been the first sign. I’m so stupid…”
“Hey. No. You’re already hurting, there’s no sense to keep beating yourself up. Just…keep talking.”
For the first time, Jess lets out a very, very faint grin at the empathy being shown to her by The Exile. The grin fades as she continues recanting her tale.
“The bastard’s former flame…some girl that he said was just a fling before he met me. She came back into his life, after being completely gone. Just ghosted him after they had been dating for some time, and she came strolling back into his life just the other day.
“He told me when we starting seeing one another that their relationship was toxic, that it was the best thing to happen when he and I started dating. But, that bitch comes back and he just starts simping on her like some damn puppy dog? What’s the point? Why bother giving your heart to someone when they’re just going to tear it out the second someone else comes waltzing back into the picture?”
Cyrus, taking a couple of seconds to mull over what Jess told him, lets out a sigh as he leans back into the sand, lying down and giving his back muscles a chance to relax.
“It’s rough. Not going to lie and tell you there’s an easy answer or a simple path forward. Believe or not, I get where you’re coming from. Not necessarily from a romantic side, but from…work."
“Work?”
“Yeah. I’ve been with the same company for eight years at this point. I’ve done pretty much everything I’ve been asked to do and have never really left for any reason. It’s more than I can say for a lot of my co-workers.
“So many of them arrived with a bunch of high hopes and aspirations. And management, well…management’s always been the type to buy into hype. It’s why so many people come and go. Because they know that if they leave and show up months or years after the fact? They’ll get a boost to their credibility, even if they may not deserve it. And those who stuck by the company through the good times and the bad? Well, at best, they’re set aside. At worst? Brass thinks they can use us to continue building the hype for the returning folk.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It really is.”
“What do you DO for a living?”
“Professional wrestler.”
Jess blinks, a bit surprised by the casual way that Cyrus answered her question.
“You’re a wrestler?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Why the hell would I lie about that?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just…you don’t really look like a professional wrestler. I mean, I don’t mean to be insulting or anything, it’s just…”
Cyrus cuts off Jess’s stammering with a slight chuckle, of which Jess seems a bit grateful. The Exile sits up, sand clinging to his back. He doesn’t seem to mind it, though.
“You’re not the first person to say as much. Even these days, where wrestlers come in all shapes and sizes, there’s still that stigma of muscle-bound meatheads using headlocks and clotheslines. But that’s not that important.
“The thing I’ve come to realize is that people always want to chase the wave, you know? Like my bosses, like your boyfriend…it’s all about the ebb and flow, the constant movement. That’s who this girl is that your ex left you for, and all the other wrestlers that show up after an extended absence where I work. Just waves. Transient, roiling ripples that could become a tidal wave, or just end up little more than a fleeting moment in a cavalcade of fleeting moments.”
“...Has anybody ever told you that you speak like a poet sometimes?”
That…actually gets to Cyrus, as The Exile is stunned by that interjection. Jess, for her part, is a bit concerned when she sees the strange look on Cyrus’s face, until Cyrus simply laughs it off.
“Yeah, old habits. My point is, so many people get infatuated with waves, when I’ve always preferred to be a rock.”
Cyrus points over to the rock he was sitting on before Jess. The sky has turned from blue to a medley of reds and oranges as the sun has begun to set. The waves, ever ebbing, lick at the shoreline and crash against the stone.
“It’s the nature of time that everything eventually comes to an end. It’s unavoidable. Even if you wish it didn’t. Even when it hurts when it does. Waves are…inconsistent. They come and go, but it’s rare that a single wave will ever make a major splash. Pun not intended on that, by the way.”
Jess chuckles at that. A lot of the angst and anger that she had been carrying since arriving here seems to have been muted, if not evaporated by this conversation.
“A rock is never going to be as exciting. It’s never going to get as much attention as a wave, or ever be appreciated for existing. And yeah…a rock will eventually be worn down over time and returned to dust and sand after enough has passed and enough waves have crashed against it.
“Thing is…one wave can never break stone. Wear it a little, yes. No avoiding that. But there’s not been a single wave strong enough to get the job done on its own. And before the stone eventually breaks? Countless waves will have been broken upon it and left as nothing but water in the vastness of an ocean."
“So…what you’re saying is…despite how much it hurts, it’s not the end of the world, right?”
Cyrus nods and smiles warmly.
“And more importantly, pain is something that’ll eventually fade. What someone else does shouldn’t matter when it comes to your own worth. Let the waves continue to roil for what little good they’ll do, I say. Ultimately, they’re just droplets of water in a vast ocean that they’ll inevitably return to. In the end, be the stone that rises above the water, the ever-present cornerstone that can be built upon that the waves break themselves upon.
“Disappointment and sorrow is part and parcel of being human. But what you do with that is entirely up to you. The only thing you have to decide is whether you let that sorrow be what you drown in, or whether you choose to be a stone and let the waves that think they can drag you down crash against you and return to the nothing they came from.”
It’s easy to tell that this was a conversation that Jess was not expecting to have, nor was meeting this stranger who has been kind and respectful for no reason other than just choosing to be. When she came to this beach, it was to run from her pain, her sorrow, and her rage.
But…this stranger, this wrestler is right. The re-emergence of someone who ran away, the decision of her ex-boyfriend to leave her for that bitch despite everything they’ve gone through together?
Fuck them both.
“...I think I understand. No…I DO understand. It’s about knowing your worth in the end. My life is mine to live, right? My choices, my actions, and what I let affect me are mine.”
“Pretty much.”
“Still doesn’t stop it from hurting.”
“No. It won’t. But pain is just pain. It doesn’t make you any more or less than what you choose to be.”
Jess lets out a deep breath, much of her pent-up anger and frustration leaving her as the air leaves her lungs. She scoots over closer to Cyrus as she asks:
“Hey…is it okay if I hug you?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Jess wraps her arms around Cyrus, and The Exile returns it. It’s not something Cyrus is particularly comfortable with, but he knows that it’s something that Jess needs. A reminder that the world will change and things will come and go, but that in the end? She’ll survive. And remain when so many other things pass by.
Jess releases her embrace as she stands up, dusting the sand off her sundress.
“Hey. What company do you wrestle for?”
“The Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. I compete on both of their regular shows.”
“I’m…not much of a wrestling fan, but…maybe I’ll tune in. Just to see you work.”
“Can’t promise I’ll win.”
“You will.”
Cyrus seems a bit surprised by that as Jess simply smiles.
“Because you won’t be broken by whatever the ocean throws at you. Right?”
The Exile lowers his head. One could assume that he’s doing it to hide his own blushing at his own words being returned to him by this stranger he just met, or maybe he’s trying really hard not to meet her gaze to let her know that she got to him. However, the laugh is still very audible.
“Ha, ha…yeah. Damn straight. Are you going to be alright, Jess?”
“Yeah. Maybe not today, but I will be. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I’d…ask you for your number. Not for that, of course…I’m not ready to dive back into that sea. But you know…in case you needed to chat? Either way, kind of pointless considering…”
Jess sheepishly points to the ocean, where the consequences of her phone-throwing tantrum have finally really begun to sink in. Cyrus chuckles at that, a lighthearted amused laugh as he stands up to meet her eye-to-eye.
“Don’t worry about it. If we run across one another again, maybe then…”
“Yeah. I’d like that. Well…sorry for bothering you with my whole mess. But…thanks. Maybe see you around?”
Cyrus shrugs, but he nods.
You meet all sorts on the Long and Winding Road. Some are people who you travel with for a long time. Others are simply passing travelers you meet once. But every person you meet, interact with, share stories and beliefs with? All of them are important. Every single one.
For Jess, this was a chance encounter to put the world back into perspective. To understand that sorrow and pain need not define what her next steps will be.
And for Cyrus?
Well…
As Jess waves goodbye and heads further inland away from the beach and to whatever the next chapter of her story will be, Cyrus remains. Standing alone as the sun has sunk deeper and deeper into the horizon.
Night will fall soon. And much still needs to be done for the journey to Back in Business and beyond.
The first obstacle, the first wave is a wrestler with championship pedigree, but nothing else aside from vapid hype due to a return in the Carnal Contendership match.
Another wave that emerged from the vast void that it slunk to, that thinks it will be the one to change the landscape of FWA.
It’s nothing new to The Vagabond King. Just another wave doomed to crash upon the cornerstone of FWA, the man who has stood as a rock amidst the turbulent sea.
As Cyrus looks out upon the sea, and looks once more upon the rock he meditated upon…a decision is made.
Cyrus is still in pain. Some of it will fade. A bit of it won’t.
But Jeremy and his little band of misfits weren’t enough of a surge to shatter him.
Trevor Ocean?
He’ll be no different.
And maybe…Cyrus will do FWA a favor yet again. And make sure this new wave of a returning wrestler ends up shattered and broken before it inevitably ends up disappointing those who put too much faith in it.
Yeah…
It’s time to get back to work.
