Dance the Bloody Dance

Wednesday, November 20, 2002.

Jack Lynch Theater, Memphis, Tennessee - after Championship Wrestling

So close, yet so far.

And God, did his face hurt after that vicious roundhouse kick from Easton.  That son of a bitch certainly showed his talent.  The Duke sat and adjusted the collar of his white oxford shirt, which was buttoned most of the way up, and which was complimented by his Armani leather shoes, khaki pants, and khaki blazer.

As Lancaster sat in the common locker room of the MSWA - gone were the days that he'd demand his own private space - his mind turned towards Chris Wright.  It was with him where his frustration lay.  Lancaster realized Wright had legitimate grievances with Easton...but shit...his timing could not have been worse.

Lancaster shook his head, as he stood up, sighing a sigh of exasperation.  His chance to be number one contender, obviously gone.  The Duke organized his belongings and reviewed the match over and over in his mind.

That missile drop kick off the top was something he was especially proud of - even if it missed completely, and eroded the strength of his back in the process.  He took a risk, something he was not accustomed to doing during a match.  Things were different now than they were a year ago back in the NAWA.

A smile crept over the lips of the Duke of Wessex as he began to rummage through his belongings, preparing to return to his hotel.  He had an important phone call to make to his interior designer, the brilliant yet eccentric Helius Andrös, about the purchase and design of his new condominium in Memphis.

Lancaster picked up his bag and exited, passing a few superstars and assorted MSWA officials.  Lancaster offered a smile to most of them, and was returned it by some, not by others.

Perhaps his prior legacy still lived on, of being a drunken elitist prick.

No matter, he could get through to some, to others, no.

As the Duke walked through the storied halls of the Jack Lynch Theater, this notion ate away at him, but more so, the interference from that night's match.  The Duke altered his course and headed away from the exit, and towards the recording area, where the stars of the MSWA produced their promos.  Lancaster's expression was one of sternness, and what he felt inside, had to be released.

Besides, taking it out on a German artist/architect/interior designer would hardly be satisfying.

"Am I disturbing you gentlemen?"

The few techies that remained looked up somewhat startled.  It was getting somewhat late at night, as they wrapped up for the day.  One of them responded.

"No, not at all Mr. Lancaster...we're just wrapping up actually."

Robert walked forward slightly and placed his bag down.

"If it's possible...I'd like to make use of these facilities now, if I may...I promise I'll keep it short."

That elicited a sigh from the lead techie, who shrugged and nodded, as if to say "all right, what the hell."

"Thank you gentlemen, I appreciate this."

The techie scrambled around briefly and directed Lancaster, setting up the camera and lighting as the Duke took his spot for his first return promo in front of the MSWA banner.  The techie behind the camera pointed, signaling "go ahead" to Robert.

"Mr. Easton...my first words must go to you...congratulations on your hard earned victory tonight...and I suppose you should thank Mr. Wright for that, as well.  However, you certainly left your mark on me."

Lancaster rubbed his face slowly with his hand, the side that got walloped by that roundhouse.  A smile crossed his lips as he continued, pointing briefly to the camera.

"Mr. Easton as you continue on in the Number One Contendership Tournament, I wish you the best of luck...however, I would be careful, and expect me to cross your path again sometime...perhaps sooner than you'd expect.  But it's you, Mr. Wright, whom I really want to address.  I ask you, why in God's name would you chose to seek your vengeance with the referee's eyes totally gazing upon your actions, costing me my return match?  Could not your thirst for revenge be quenched elsewhere, another time?"

The Duke's voice rose in anger to an extent, his frustration, obvious.  Even though he swore not to take every loss personally, he could not help but feel it, particularly at that point.

"I want answers Mr. Wright, and I want them soon.  I may have eliminated my dastardly tactics and ways, but by God, I am not afraid to use them still if provoked...yet, nevertheless...I too, wish you luck in these ring wars...but be sure, even the smallest things can provoke bloodshed."

Robert regained his composure and ran a hand through his hair quickly.

"As for the rest of you...Stratford, we did never tangle as we were planned to back in the NAWA...to you, any day, anytime, I'd be more than pleased to step into the ring with you...Triple D, the man who helped usher me back into the ring, I thank you...and Jeff, wherever you are...I hope to see you back in action too sometime.  MSWA, His Grace Duke Robert Goodlife II is gone, Robert Lancaster II is here, and I shall continue to corrode this ring rust, until I am in finer shape than any of you have ever seen...I welcome any of you to step up, and dance the bloody dance in the ring...for now though...just watch me."