Giving Thanks

Scene I:  Saskatoon, Saskatchewan - Sheraton Cavalier Hotel - Monday, November 17, 2003

It was an interesting night.

And a glorious one.

The Scythe Meister.  One who had all but vanished from the CSWA for months re-emerged from the shadows to join the most dominant force in CSWA history, the Jacobins.  And by uniting ourselves - four in one and one in four - we became stronger. And the results have been clear.  CSWA Tag Team Champions.  CSWA Great Plains Champion, Chris Wright.  And time after time, nearly CSWA Central States Heavyweight Champion.  

But now, we claim the CSWA Gravity Title for our own, thanks to the enigma that is TSM.  He stays in the shadows.  Hell, Seamus, Chris or I can't really claim to know him.  But we know what lurks deep inside away from the eyes of man.  He lives for the Jacobins, and us for him, and each other.  And he will strike fear yet even more, and the Jacobins become all the more dominant.

All the more unstoppable.

Seamus, my one and only true friend, aside from Simkins.  He was once again denied not by Fate, but by the conniving and most loathsome pathetic force known to man: Jeff Kushner, Adam-X, and Mace.  He was denied the Great Plains Title last week, and now the CSWA Central States Heavyweight Championship.  Those fucks would pay, and he, and I, and the rest of the Jacobins, would guarantee it.  Napalm's fate is sealed.  I shall sleep well tonight, knowing that.

I too felt the Great Plains Championship slip from my hands yet again.  But not due to anything Tate did.  But because of Napalm. He just had to get involved, didn't he.  That bastard.  Yet another maneuver plotted out against the Jacobins, because Constantine and Napalm, and the Three Stools, they work together still on the same page to deny us our place.

In hindsight the night would have been accounted for with one glory, and a series of crimes.  

Except for the acts of one man, which made the night truly one to remember.

And one to give thanks for.

At last my appetite could finally be ingratiated and gorged.

And I owe it all to that one man, Robert Marshall.

Screw GW.  I salute this chief, that of the CSWA.  

Hail to the chief.

He finally had the nerve to step up and clean up the shit that was strewing about the league, namely, that of the former "Authority," amongst others.  Adam-X deserves to be castrated and decapitated for interfering with Seamus...it is a shame that Marshall didn't tear into him.  At least that dumbfuck Mace got a good tongue lashing for his troubles, and Jeff...well, he was handed a death sentence.

And no matter what that pompous overbearing leach said to me, he has my eternal gratitude for handing me Jeff on a silver plate - how else would I accept such a gift, after all, except by those means.

A war without end.  And I look forward to it greatly.

I knew it would test me like no other bouts in my entire professional career.  I knew also that it would encompass everything everyone would expect, the tests of physicality and psychology.  

But it would finally encompass everything I had hoped for.

No more running, no more chasing, no more attempting to out maneuver him and his band of jackals.

It would be him, versus me.  And nobody else in between.

No place to turn, or hide.

The only place I had to turn now, at this moment - was the mirror.


Scene I:  New York City, New York - Trump International Hotel & Tower - Wednesday, November 25, 2003

I stood before the mirror and adjusted my tie, one Marissah had bought for me recently from Bergdorf's.

Today was and I call it this purposefully: American Thanksgiving.

I never practiced the custom of Thanksgiving, chiefly, and obviously, because there is no such custom in the UK, nor did I ever when I moved here to take up professional wrestling.  I had little interest in stuffing myself full of bird and pie.

After all, it'd leave so little room for the booze.

Marissah had family dinner plans tonight, but I thought I'd just drive over to her apartment before heading to the Plaza for dinner on my own, seeing as I did almost everything alone when not in the ring, save for the times Marissah was available.

It hadn't been too long, but I haven't felt this way about a woman since...Stephanie.  

We clicked together so easily and so flawlessly.  Her style and attitude were so liberated and confident.  She said what she meant, and held nothing back.  And of course...she's a great lay.  She did things to me Steph would never consider...and vice versa.

My Windsor Knot was completed, I felt fairly well, as I smirked, thinking about that last point.

I was a dirty fecker, and I knew it.

But hell...I feel so strongly for her.  For all I know, there very well may be a new Duchess of Wessex in the near future.

That is however a completely different...can of worms.

I rolled my eyes as I walked away from the mirror and picked up my jacket and headed out.

Although I did not celebrate or recognize Thanksgiving really, I truly have plenty to be thankful for.


Scene II:  New York City, New York - condo building of Marissah Whitely  - Wednesday, November 25, 2003

I hadn't been in her condo too many times.  The building had a pretty good location, don't know about the decor really though, but whatever.

I brought her a bottle of wine just as a small gift for being by my side in the ring these first few weeks.  She was a great benefit. Although the number times I had to hear her berate and insult Rayne Lange on the way home was enough to make a sailor blush.  Her distaste for Quinn's woman was obvious.

I do admit the idea of those two going at it was quite, stimulating.  I'd never suggest they fight though, Rayne's been in the business far longer than Marissah, and I know she's a dangerous woman.  That'd not stop her though, given how bloody stubborn she is.

The lift reached the lobby and I made my way up to her room.  As I reached it, I knocked and waited for her to open it.  I heard she was there, I could hear her voice talking softly to whomever she was on the phone with.

I knocked again.

Still, no answer.

I grew tired of waiting and reached into my pocket and pulled out a key to her place, one she had given me just in case.

I opened the door.

Before me stood Marissah...and some other man.

My eyes exploded in murderous rage, on instinct.

"WHO the HELL is that?" I demanded, not caring about the tone of voice, as I pointed to the man.

She said nothing, but the man turned his head and looked towards me, a very angered expression crossing his face.

"...I'm her husband."


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Jacobins

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