OOC: Forgive the delay, school has a habit of getting in the way. If you need to refresh your memory, just browse my previous RP. Thanks!

Saturday, September 14, 2002.  Approximately 8pm.

Streets of Memphis, TN

The Guinness, and his chat with "Dashing" Doug Daniels, whom he found to be incredibly insightful, had definitely combined to make the Duke of Wessex's mind swirl.  Not drunk mind you - he could easily out drink most men walking the face of the earth, back in the days where he used to consume a bottle of fine scotch whisky every day or two.

"I was an alcoholic," he muttered to nobody, in realization.  He stopped dead in his tracks.

My God - he had never said it to himself really ever...the son of the great Edward James Lancaster VII, an alcoholic?  He continued along this unpleasant train of thought as he ventured back towards his hotel on Union Avenue, the posh Peabody Hotel.  Somewhat of a distance from the Lynch Sports Pub and Grille, but he could not care less.  He felt like walking.

But still - an alcoholic?

Oh yes, oh hell yes.  Stephanie Erin, his beloved wife, put up with so much when she was Stephanie Erin Dynasty, his fiancée, back in the 90's.  The drunken arguments, tantrums, disputes, so many tears shed by both.  For what?  The near alienation of his woman, and surely alcohol had driven her to Leviathan's arms, and him to Christine Yang's, the disgraced and former Chief Financial Officer of Robert Lancaster Investment Enterprises, back in 2001.

Thank God his son had not been born at that time.

A small smile crept across the lips of Lancaster, as he thought of his baby boy, who had just turned half a year old recently.  In him, were the pent up feelings and hopes that the Duke of Wessex had within him.

A new life, a new beginning, yet he could already see the man his son would develop into.  He had his lips and ears, but most enchantingly, his mother's eyes - they had a warmth and intuitive nature that was too hard to describe.  It was just there.

He hadn't seen his wife or son in days, which felt like countless ages.  How he missed them.  Lancaster had flown into Memphis a few days prior to the Saturday, to negotiate with Jack Lynch and his people the deal that saw RLIE invest the funds the Duke had desired.  He frequently called his wife just to check on things, and conversation would range from business to their child (who was discussed constantly) to sex (which was also fairly talked about in depth...so to speak).

Life seemed so much simpler all those years ago.  No business, no wrestling career, no family - just planes, gorgeous women, fast cars, gambling in Monaco and Monte Carlo, and alcohol that flowed faster and was consumed more often than Boris f'ing Yeltsin did.

Yet he loved the life he had.  How could he not?  His wife and son were the jewels of his life.

"Shit."  The Duke laughed out loud.  How often has he had these thoughts running through his head, and how often did he need to scrutinize his past life, and the one he presently lived.

What mattered most was that he was back in the wrestling world, even just as a financial lackey to Jack Lynch.  But hell, his name was inseparably intertwined with the MSWA now as a patron.  This was very satisfying, yet of course, more was wanted.

The difficulties which closed the NAWA's doors for the second time weren't clear, but it did not matter per se.  He was ecstatic to have had a second chance in that illustrious federation, but was disappointed in not being able to come through and show the people of the NAWA locker room, and the world, the changed man that he was.

Ah, a Starbucks, noticed the Duke of Wessex.  A coffee would hit the spot at that moment.  The air was slightly chilly, although still warm by English standards.  He wandered inside and was instantly greeted by a flood of aroma which filled his lungs.  Beautiful.  Lancaster ordered just a plain Colombian coffee, large, one cream, one sugar.  He fished out some change and paid for his coffee, and then exited.

A voice called out from the darkness.

"Hey pal, spare some change."

The Duke looked down an alley way to see a Black gentleman sitting on the cold pavement, sticking his hands out, and looking up.  The smell of alcohol was apparent on his breath.  Wearing only soiled trousers, a tattery jacket and a white t-shirt that was beyond stained, the bum looked like he was having a life that many would consider not worth living.  Lancaster frowned somewhat, looking at the remains of a Jack Daniels bottle cast beside him, utterly smashed.  He felt urged to ask.

"Oh yeah...what for?"

The bum was surprised.

"What the fuck do you care? You gonna give me money or ain't ya?"

"That rather depends.  If you're going to waste it on booze, forget it.  If otherwise, then, who knows."

Lancaster looked at the bum with an expression of stern smugness.  The bum returned the look.

"Man fuck you then, get yo ass outta here."

The Duke continued his glare, turning it to a half smile.

"What's your name?"

The bum looked up somewhat confusingly.

"You really wanna know?"

Robert nodded silently.  The bum stretched out his filthy hand, which the Duke took without hesitation, leaning down to his level.

"George. You?"

"Robert.  You drink?"

George snorted.

"I drink.  Hell it's my life - life is drinkin' and drinkin' is life."

Lancaster was the one now giving the sympathetic smile, as Daniels did for him earlier that night.

"It used to be mine, too.  It destroyed my life, almost cost me my wife, everything."

George smiled wryly, and poked the Duke in the chest with a finger.

"You lucky you stopped at dat stage, 'cause I sure as hell went way 'yond it.  I fought in Nam all dem years ago, came back here, couldn't a'just like so many others - fuckin' killin' so many people don't make ya a normal fit back to 'ciety, know what I'm sayin?"

Lancaster frowned and nodded once more, his eyes staring directly into George's oh so apparent tortured soul.  His near toothless mouth spoke more powerful words than Lancaster had heard in a very long time.  He knew he had nobody to talk to, so he felt more than abliged, and also sensed a desire in his own mind, to sit and listen to what he had to say, intoxicated or not.

"Mah wife left me 'cause I started drinkin' heavy, doin' the drugs 'n' all, 'n' I nearly killed myself, but the drinkin' just kept me goin', and so here I am, still, twenty years plus on da street, an ain't nothin' gonna change dat ever."

George leaned back against the brick wall of the alleyway, spitting to the side.  He shivered somewhat, his old trousers and tattered jacket just barely providing any cover from the elements.

"But yah know," declared George, once again poking the Duke's black overcoat, "joinin' da army was my dream...I wanted to serve my country ya know what I'm sayin', 'cause we got our freedoms, and I wanted to thank my country for doin' that after treatin' us like shit for so many goddamn years, know what I'm sayin'?  'sides, my mama was so proud...and dat's the only thin' that made me happy, and I followed mah dreams, and dis is the only thin' I still treasure."

The bum reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the Purple Heart, the medal given to soldiers who were shot in combat, and survived.  It was slightly torn, a bit tarnished, but still easily recognizable.

George smiled oh so proudly still, as did Lancaster.  He held it up in the air, the light from the street lamps gleaming off it slightly.

"I'd rather die dan lose this, know what I'm sayin'?  Dis be my pride and joy, my honour...my honour, 'cause I followed mah dreams.  And Rob..."

George looked at him firmly.

"You follow yer dreams too, ya know what I'm sayin?  Life ain't worth livin' unless you follow yer dreams...think 'bout it..."

Lancaster realized his dreams were firm, and where his true heart lay, and knew where destiny was leading him.

"I will."