The Glueminati Locker Room had mostly emptied out for the night as the main event between Cancer Jiles and Jared Sykes reached a dramatic climax. It was clear Hayes was not going to be making any appearances after Cecilworth caught him at the very last minute and dashed his hopes of his name returning to the bright lights. FLAMBERGE, Joe and Sid had to have a strategy meeting over the Russians… whatever that looked like. I don’t think a sane human mind should even try to imagine such things. The office lads like Hank and Dirk were holed up at Farthington Manor, taking care of Phil Atken after a small incident.
No, all that remained was Cecilworth.
True of the Glue Locker Room, true of the sticky hopes of the Almasy.
Cecilworth sat with an intense focus on the feed for the evening’s main event, trying to recover from his absolute mauling by becoming more ice pack than man. Although he had not verbalised it as such, Cecilworth Farthington had a very vested interest in the outcome of Jared Sykes vs. Cancer Jiles. Cecilworth had been waiting for this moment since his supposed “nephew” spat in his eye, but he knew the plan really whirred into place at ReVival 28.
The first to fall.
A six month journey… two more matches… Cecilworth Farthington would be indisputable. His legacy ensured, hell, enshrined in the history books. He just needed Jiles to pull it out. He needed to finish his story.
Needless to say, when the hand hit three for the third time and Jared Sykes was declared to victor, there was mild upset in the Glueminati Dress Space. In his infirm state, clearly still hurting from the beautiful destruction perpetrated on him by Hayes Hanlon, outrage from Farthington basically meant gingerly pushing a vacant folding chair over and immediately clutching his arms in pain. However, what he lacked physically, he made up for vocally.
“NO! NO NO NO NO NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! NOOOO!” was screamed at a volume so loud, it’d be no surprise if the whole of Memphis had heard the Five Star champion.
Cecilworth kicked another chair in frustration, sending it sailing into a locker cubby with a thud, this was rapidly following up by about twenty fists to the floor, all while yelling in a combination of “FUCK” or “NO!”.
So I suppose you could say that Cecilworth Farthington was not particularly enamored with the results of the Bridgestone Arena’s main event.
Chandler Tsonda was just a beautiful piece of DLC, a hat on a hat if you will. An extra bonus for the lucky laddy. Something nice to have as a status of worth but not necessary for the grand plan. I can’t be too mad at you over that Coral, I’m mad over a lot of other things but getting some sweet revenge from Tsonda in your new… Bandity… form… a guaranteed shot at the Alias Championship… and a date with me.
I get the motivation, it’s powerful.
Jared Sykes though, he eliminated Cancer Jiles and that’s just unacceptable.
YOU FUCKING RUINED IT JARED.
YOU RUINED A BEAUTIFUL THING.
They were my Dragon Balls. They were going to give me every wish I could ever desire when it comes to proving to anyone, without a shadow of a doubt, who the wrestler’s wrestler is. How many people could say they had claimed the name of every former Universal Champion in their era? I was so fucking close. SO FUCKING CLOSE.
Rezin, Youngblood, Hanlon…
Oh yeah, and Phil Atken.
Sorry about that whole thing Dirk. I mean, you have to admit, he’s been really rude to me recently and I thought after I conquered his little career benchmark in Brandon Youngblood it was time to reassert my authority in the world of Glue. I mean, it was getting real dicey there, I’m sure you’d agree. People started questioning me, said they didn’t care to learn from me, didn’t want the wisdom held within.
I think people can appreciate when a man needs to take decisive action. I spotted the opportunity for a double kill in a single week. Two Universal Champions brought down by my bare hands.
If Phil Atken is the bastard he purports to be, he’ll be saluting me for doing what needed to be done to ensure the future of Glue. I told everyone when I came back what my role was. Just because I’m patient, just because I wait for the right moment to strike… that should never be confused with being a walkover. In one day, with Phil leaking a carton of red wine on the floor of Farthington Manor, and with Hayes Hanlon learning a life lesson… I think we answered the question of who leads the troops.
Dirk and Hank will be mad for a little while, I get that. They’re both smart enough to know I did it for them too. I did it for us. Hitching their wagon to The Ultimate Five Star Champion is going to pay them the biggest dividends of their whole career.
You know, I feel like I should get the names of each Universal Champion I was the undoing of etched into my title. Just to give it a little bit of razzmatazz. Sadly the spot for Jiles will remain forever empty.
I wasn’t messing around at Tropical Turmoil when I said I was holding the most valuable belt in PRIME. Hanlon never saw that. He chose the allure of the Universal Title, now nothing more than a farce of commentary appearances, banners, body paint and vending machines. A title for the fools.
Yes, you can infer the subtext there.
Young Master Hanlon, you said you didn’t care about me, you didn’t care about my past, you didn’t care about the Five Star Championship. You thought this lack of care, this indifference, that it would fuel you to where you need to go. I hope you’ve now realised that it doesn’t matter how powerful the move, how much damage you inflict, how much suffering is caused to my body… expertise and training, knowledge of the grappling arts, that reigns supreme.
Hayes Hanlon is already one of the best to do this, a two time Universal Champion at a young age with more again in his future. Unfortunately for Hayes, his vinegar was too pungent, his piss too yellow when we battled at ReVival. That match was always a matter of time. A bull will always run to the rag, an opening will always present itself. In his rush to shortcut his way back to the top of PRIME, he failed to realise that the meaning is in the journey, not the shortcuts.
People have been so excited about their dream opponents in the Almasy Finals. Hanlon and Sykes for Ultraviolent Revenge… Jiles and Avalon for that whole Banditry thing. All these fantasy brackets because no one was paying attention to little old me.
No one thought a single competitor could come out of that bracket with the journey I had. A former Intense champion, two former Universal Champions, every single man with something to prove, a need to redeem themselves, men bringing their very best.
Their hands hit the mats all the same.
Two wins away from total vindication, absolute glory. Two wins away from never being questioned again. I need to dig deep, I need to find a new gear, but I think I’ve found it. I have found what I need.
That reminds me, I need to write a few letters.
Last time we stood against each other, we were perhaps the most discussed item of the Tropical Turmoil show (of either night, Jiles…). A resurgent Avalon, on a run that his career had not seen in quite some time, clutching the 5 Star Championship that he had managed to snatch away from Nate Colton, who until that point seemed to be on a rocketship straight to Universal Title glory. I may have defeated Colton while he was in the throes of being distracted by the lust, the nasty creature that she is, but you, Coral… you drove him down that road. You took away the one piece of Nate Colton that could serve a reminder of who he was and what he could achieve. He may blame himself but the wise observer would know to blame you.
It’s not your fault, it was a wrestling match for the Five Star Championship. It was a chance for you to showcase your skills, a chance for you to rustle your jimmies with another twenty minute entrance.
You know Coral, these grandiose entrances of yours, they really have the stench of a man hiding his insecurities. The bladders of the ten thousand that night owe you a great debt mind you.
Why am I talking about Nate, Coral? Well, I’ve said it once, I’ll say it one thousand times – actions have consequences. To you, a simple win in a match turned another man’s life into a living hell, got him castigated by the entire roster, if the boys in the back had a chance, Colton would have been wearing a scarlet letter on him for the rest of the days after his little Scandal stunt.
You though, you’ve probably given little thought to your role in that. Off you popped to fight Sage Pontiff, free of the burden of human concern for your fellow man.
So I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve forgotten what I tried to do for you at Tropical Turmoil.
The legendary Coral Avalon, striding into a Pay Per View main event, every fan in the arena in his corner. The master in his abode, showered with the respect of the fans and his peers as he goes into battle with a man who was once sitting on the mountain top of professional wrestling. A man who had survived 39 others to get his shot at you. A match with value, a match with stakes, a match with eyeballs.
People cared, Coral, people wanted to see us duke it out. Win or lose, there was a lot of prestige to what we had managed.
Hell, you had the bonus of coming into the match injured due a bruising encounter with Sage Pontiff.
You had the dignified exit, you had the way of spending time with your family. Hell, you had time to plan a grand return if you felt up to it. You threw all of that away though, tossed to the side and became a Bandit. All because you couldn’t accept losing to me.
I guess the Almasy has become our Delorean, because it’s taken me back to a place where I can fix that mistake. Clear the decks. You’ll thank me for it in the end.
Your humble financier,
You don’t deserve any of this. I’m truly sorry. I feel so very responsible for the position I’ve put you in, forcing you to clean your beautiful family home after a visit from Bobby Dean. I wouldn’t wish that on the people who are on my “murder list” and that’s people I want to murder in cold blood, so y’know, the horror of your current life is perfectly understood.
I just feel guilty because if I hadn’t forced your husband to tap out to me in a show of my sheer dominance over him, perhaps you wouldn’t have the additional house guests right now. Perhaps you wouldn’t have had to spend weeks worrying to death about what happened to your husband when the rejected kickline from the quickly canceled Vegas show “Eggy Boys” lifted him on high and stole him right out of the arena.
How does a man allow himself to be stolen? I think you’ve probably reached the same conclusion I have, dearest Annabelle. He wanted this. From the minute he lost to me, he wasn’t seeking to combat the Bandits, he was seeking to become one. Instead of a dignified exit from the wrestling industry, with a grand return down the line when he felt recovered from the harsh blows from myself, Colton and Sage Pontiff, we got the bizarre moment that a match was officially declared over due to Banditry. All the protestations, all of the complaining, all of the pretend frustration with Jiles… all with the purpose of tricking everyone as he got his second act.
We’re probably around the fifth chapter for Coral Avalon’s career really, but the second act fits for narrative purposes so let’s go with it.
It is one of my greatest regrets in my career that I couldn’t make your precious Coral go home and be a family man. There’s probably a sinking feeling settling in for you now, you and the beautiful baby inside always being second place. Nights taking care of your child alone because Coral had to go and help Bobby out of a Taco Bell bathroom. Wondering where Coral is because he boarded a jet to a warship floating off the coast of Japan. Every minute free spent with Jiles and Bobby over you and your golden child. I don’t want that for you Annabelle and I’ve decided to do something about it. If I can’t guide Coral to a dignified exit from this sport, I can force it. Not because I want to, but because I care.
Sorry about what I’m about to do to your husband, but given what he recently did to your home life, I think you’ll secretly enjoy it.
Hugs and kisses.
By the time you’re born, and we can’t be that far from that eventful day now, whatever name you are christened with, just know that you’ll always be Lancelot in the eyes of your delinquent father. He is after all a man who’d rather name you due to his own Arthurian fetishes than give you the unconditional love that you deserve. One way or another, no matter the gender, you’re going to be Lancelot. I’m so sorry about that.
There will come a day when you are old enough to read this letter and I hope you read it with an open mind. Familial loyalty can often be blinding to the truth, god knows it happened to me when I thought Max Kael and Mike Best were my best friends. The first time I’ve ever had a sense of family and I’ll admit, Lil Lancey, I waved off so much bad behaviour, justified the immoral to be moral, all in the name of the false belief that it is what you’re meant to do as family.
The reality is much clearer, families are not supposed to lie to each other and although I have only known your daddy for a little while now, I’ve sadly seen how much he’s willing to corrupt himself in the name of a sporting legacy.
I saw it early, Lil Lancy, I tried to help, I really did.
I wanted your daddy to come home to you, ready for your birth. I wanted his smiling face to be one of the first things you would see as you entered this brave new world. It can be a cold and harsh place, Lil Lancy, and at the time, I thought your father would be the one who could guide you through the madness and the pain.
I’m sorry Lancelot, I’m sorry that your father valued his wrestling career and legacy over you. I’m sorry that when he was given a chance to go out on a high, he instead went lower than he has ever gone in his career before. I tried to give him a dignified exit. A hero’s exit.
Now? He’s been frozen in some warship pod and made to wear yellow ponchos and he’s convinced himself that it’s bringing him success. He’s actually started believing that these Banditry cures are fixing his ever breaking body and not just a bizarre placebo effect that’s been the cause, likely due to Dean’s body odor. That or the healthy diet of ibuprofen that man is getting fed.
Sure, Coral has always been aligned with the absurd and the oddities but to be a Bandit… to endorse that lifestyle… to give value and pay per view victories to a man like Cancer Jiles.
He lost it, Lance, I’m sorry to say. I don’t even think he knows how far gone he is. So call me a family friend, because I’m going to fix this for you and your beautiful mother.
Last time me and your father stood in the ring, I was questioning my place in the current wrestling landscape, I didn’t know if I could be the man I once was, a man who would do anything to win. I showed mercy to your father, to let him be
I will not repeat that mistake.
I do it for you.
Lord Cecilworth Farthington
The past few weeks, I’ve been finding it difficult to sleep. You’ve all been there, no matter the toss, the turn or position of the pillow do much to bring the blessed relief of the Sandman to your exhausted mind. Sit up, sit down, flip to the left, flip to the right…
You get lucky sometimes, a magical few hours of a trip to the land of nod, the sense of calmness that brings you, the warmth of the covers keeping you at ease. Settled, at peace one could say. You might even allow yourself to be reassured for the briefest of moments that you’d finally slayed the sleep demons keeping you up.
Sadly, these moments are forever fleeting, no matter how comfortable you get, no matter how deep you think your sleep is, there’s a force that’s guaranteed to awake you. For some it’s a memory, a regret that eats away at them, something they wish they could have done differently in their lives. The monster that lives in your brain knows just when to strike, just when to turn on his torchlight and bring that bright focus to those moments that eat at you. That monster is so precise in ensuring that the remains of your rest do not come to pass. He wants you tired, he wants you making more mistakes. He wants to fuel future incidents for his torch to bring to life.
For me, it wasn’t a memory, it wasn’t a moment, it was a faint sultry voice. A voice that just kept repeating one word to me in a smooth tone. A voice both weak and powerful at the same time.
Ah, I imagine you want to know the word. I find it a little odd myself. The word?
It feels like a voice I’ve heard a hundred times before, a voice that used to be part of me.
For the first few nights, I think the thing that was keeping me awake was that I couldn’t quite place why I knew it. It scratched an old itch, as if it made up a part of a man I used to be. A female voice, certainly… not one of a former flame, never much one for that, most of my compatriots in this sport, like Coral Avalon himself, they’ve made it very clear the pain and suffering family life brings. Didn’t seem like something I should bring into my life.
A female voice nonetheless, crying out, reminding me of my past…
Why now though? Why was this part of my subconscious awoken? Clearly, as every night the gentle voice grew louder, it wanted me to know, it wanted me to notice, it wanted me to place it.
Last night, I shot up out of bed and realised exactly the message the sweet voice wanted me to learn.
I am on my last legs in this tournament, I have gone through hell to get where I am, I have beat the best in this damn company to claim a semi-final spot and I don’t plan to stop now. My flesh was not willing, I thought I was done for, but that beautiful voice, it created new life in me. It reminded me, oh it reminded me.
She wanted me to remember a title I shunned, a title I thought I was no longer worthy of, she saw it all. She saw what I did to Phil, she saw what I did to Brandon, she saw Hanlon tap out.
That voice, she wants more from me, she expects more from me. She wants the old Cecilworth Farthington.
Coral, I wish it didn’t have to be like this, I wish you’d went home to your loving family after Tropical Turmoil.
Now you meet The Finish Line of Professional Wrestling.
A man who does not rest until beats his personal best.
A man who, when the lights go out, he keeps America online.
He will not let you cross.