Happy New Year
I: Friday, December 31, 2004: London, UK
Phoenix had seemingly went
well. As well as I could hope at least.
Rebecca didn't seem any the wiser to Marissah's true motives.
Perhaps the wedge was beginning to be placed. The seeds of discontent and strife were planted.
Now I just had to tend to my work and ensure that what would sprout would do so in full bloom, spreading the malice I so desperate wish to spread to that son of a bitch and his miserable family.
I am lost in my thoughts as I drive through downtown London. Gridlock, as usual. I fucking hate this town, but it reminds me of Manhattan and my cozy little abode in the Trump Tower.
So I smile.
And I smile because Marissah is with me.
The new year is upon me, upon us, and I have the woman I shall wed beside me, tonight, at Wessex, to celebrate the death of 2004.
And best of all, I get to see Eddie this afternoon for a little outing.
Marissah is going to go to Harrods'. Terrifyingly I gave her my Platinum Mastercard.
What illicit pharmaceutical was in my Corn Flakes this morning when I agreed to let her use it, I don't know.
But tonight - nay, today - was to be momentous for another reason.
We agreed to choose the date we would wed, and where we would have it.
If she could she'd have it at bloody Westminster Abbey with the Queen herself presiding. Not going to happen. I've met her a grand total of twice in my life, once to give me some useless advice about life and love. She wasn't one to be giving marital advice, that's for damn sure.
"Robert."
Hm?
"ROBERT."
Oh. I know that voice.
"Yes?"
"I SAID did you remember to put the champagne on ice. I don't drink champagne unless it's been on ice all day."
"Yes I know that," I squawk back as I slowly make the turn towards Stephanie's home. "And I told James to put the bottle of..."
Think, Lancaster, think.
"...1982 Roederer 'Cristal' Rose Champagne on ice first thing this morning. Satisfied?"
No response. I'll take that as a "yes."
I pull in and put on the hand break. I see the rental car I had put on hold sitting and waiting in the parking lot. Good.
I turn and look at her to say something, but she's already out of the car and walking towards the driver's seat, holding her hands out for the keys.
I undo my seat belt and stand up, straightening my blazer as I drop the keys into her hands.
"You know how to get to the Estate, yes."
"Mmhmm, sure babe. I got the GPS unit anyway. Not that I'd get lost in this tiny little shit hole of an island." She smiles up at me as she pulls me down and kisses me deeply, but carefully, not to smudge the lipstick she delicately applied earlier.
I smile. "I'll see you later."
She slams the door and revs up the engine. I turn to walk away only to hear her call out.
"Oh and if you see that bitch, tell her I love her." I turn and shake my head with a grin as she laughs, and speeds away into the heart of London and the heart of my chequing account.
A few moments later I was at her door. I knock.
I am horrified.
"Just what the fuck are you doing here."
Simkins. He stares directly at me, and into me.
I...
He bows slightly and steps away from the door.
"His Grace Robert Lancaster II, Duke of Wessex," he announces stoically.
Stephanie steps forward. Her eyes trace up and down me, until she bursts out into laughter with crossed arms, one covering her mouth slightly.
"Look at you...what's happened to your hair?"
The bitch....the bitch.
"I suppose you think you have some justification in hiring this worthless old man to spite me or something?" I gesticulate towards Simkins.
Her laughter subsides.
"That's none of your business Robert. Your only business here is our son, and that's it."
I see Edward trying to get his jacket on in the background.
I turn and look at the two of them. I shake my head.
"I'll come back another day, when neither of you assholes are home," I point directly at them.
I turn and walk away, pulling the door behind me.
I close my eyes as I hear Eddie's crying, and hurry myself away and into the rental car.
To Wessex...away from here. From them. To Wessex.
To plot. To plot against Curtis, and them...and the world.
I: Friday, December 31, 2004: Ancestral Estate of the Lancastrians; Wessex, England
It has been a lovely evening.
Dinner was superb, as always. James - my newly employed master of the house - was a bit slow to learn, but remarkably knowledgeable in many areas, and was slowly getting the hang of the place. I could not complain too much.
Marissah and I have retired to our bedroom. We lounge on our bed as we talk strategy still against Curtis. Wine glasses in both our hands.
He's a talent. He's coming off a victory, and he'll be hungry for more.
But against "The Destroyer of Worlds"...his desire for victory shall not be fed. This hunger shall become emaciated until he shall perish.
I've been lucky - yes, I can admit that - thus far. Interference from outsiders in almost all my matches thus far. When I defeated Christenson, he wasn't himself. I am aware of these things.
But our talent has only begun to shine through. The Avarice he faces shall not be the same Avarice that he has seen in our prior bouts.
Let the fool weave himself into traps of his own making.
By his own hand shall we defeat him.
"We agreed that that's how you'll approach that little bastard?"
I nod my head.
"That's my boy."
We kiss.
"Now that's out of the way...let me show you one of my purchases."
What HADN'T she purchased. She gets up off the bed and steps into the walk-in closet, shutting the door.
This, however, should be good.
While I wait, time to reflect, as all of humanity in its stupidity does upon the dawn of one year and the rise of the next.
The close of 2003 was the close of CSWA. I was happy there, but BWWa would prove to be more fertile ground. In a word, domination, unlike anything the wrestling world had ever seen. The Triumvirate reigned supreme. Heavyweight. Silver Dollar. Tag Team Championship. Around the waists of two men.
Two men. The other whom I destroyed.
I destroyed.
Never had I expressed so much hatred and pure malice in what I did to him.
Well done...well done.
And now...in the CAL...the era of the Avarice Hegemony is upon us.
MMV will witness a new dynasty in the House of Lancaster as well.
"Turn around you lucky son of a bitch and behold what you and only you will get tonight..."
I do as she orders.
A Christian Dior pink and white floral bustier, with matching panties. Her long brunette hair drapes over her accentuated chest as my eyes run up and down her legs, and the rest of her. She slides on top of me, and grins.
"Now. When you look into these eyes...and look...and feel what's on top of you...what do you think..."
"March 15."
"March 15?"
She giggles and silently shakes her head in agreement.
Happy New Year.
Rebecca didn't seem any the wiser to Marissah's true motives.
Perhaps the wedge was beginning to be placed. The seeds of discontent and strife were planted.
Now I just had to tend to my work and ensure that what would sprout would do so in full bloom, spreading the malice I so desperate wish to spread to that son of a bitch and his miserable family.
I am lost in my thoughts as I drive through downtown London. Gridlock, as usual. I fucking hate this town, but it reminds me of Manhattan and my cozy little abode in the Trump Tower.
So I smile.
And I smile because Marissah is with me.
The new year is upon me, upon us, and I have the woman I shall wed beside me, tonight, at Wessex, to celebrate the death of 2004.
And best of all, I get to see Eddie this afternoon for a little outing.
Marissah is going to go to Harrods'. Terrifyingly I gave her my Platinum Mastercard.
What illicit pharmaceutical was in my Corn Flakes this morning when I agreed to let her use it, I don't know.
But tonight - nay, today - was to be momentous for another reason.
We agreed to choose the date we would wed, and where we would have it.
If she could she'd have it at bloody Westminster Abbey with the Queen herself presiding. Not going to happen. I've met her a grand total of twice in my life, once to give me some useless advice about life and love. She wasn't one to be giving marital advice, that's for damn sure.
"Robert."
Hm?
"ROBERT."
Oh. I know that voice.
"Yes?"
"I SAID did you remember to put the champagne on ice. I don't drink champagne unless it's been on ice all day."
"Yes I know that," I squawk back as I slowly make the turn towards Stephanie's home. "And I told James to put the bottle of..."
Think, Lancaster, think.
"...1982 Roederer 'Cristal' Rose Champagne on ice first thing this morning. Satisfied?"
No response. I'll take that as a "yes."
I pull in and put on the hand break. I see the rental car I had put on hold sitting and waiting in the parking lot. Good.
I turn and look at her to say something, but she's already out of the car and walking towards the driver's seat, holding her hands out for the keys.
I undo my seat belt and stand up, straightening my blazer as I drop the keys into her hands.
"You know how to get to the Estate, yes."
"Mmhmm, sure babe. I got the GPS unit anyway. Not that I'd get lost in this tiny little shit hole of an island." She smiles up at me as she pulls me down and kisses me deeply, but carefully, not to smudge the lipstick she delicately applied earlier.
I smile. "I'll see you later."
She slams the door and revs up the engine. I turn to walk away only to hear her call out.
"Oh and if you see that bitch, tell her I love her." I turn and shake my head with a grin as she laughs, and speeds away into the heart of London and the heart of my chequing account.
A few moments later I was at her door. I knock.
I am horrified.
"Just what the fuck are you doing here."
Simkins. He stares directly at me, and into me.
I...
He bows slightly and steps away from the door.
"His Grace Robert Lancaster II, Duke of Wessex," he announces stoically.
Stephanie steps forward. Her eyes trace up and down me, until she bursts out into laughter with crossed arms, one covering her mouth slightly.
"Look at you...what's happened to your hair?"
The bitch....the bitch.
"I suppose you think you have some justification in hiring this worthless old man to spite me or something?" I gesticulate towards Simkins.
Her laughter subsides.
"That's none of your business Robert. Your only business here is our son, and that's it."
I see Edward trying to get his jacket on in the background.
I turn and look at the two of them. I shake my head.
"I'll come back another day, when neither of you assholes are home," I point directly at them.
I turn and walk away, pulling the door behind me.
I close my eyes as I hear Eddie's crying, and hurry myself away and into the rental car.
To Wessex...away from here. From them. To Wessex.
To plot. To plot against Curtis, and them...and the world.
I: Friday, December 31, 2004: Ancestral Estate of the Lancastrians; Wessex, England
It has been a lovely evening.
Dinner was superb, as always. James - my newly employed master of the house - was a bit slow to learn, but remarkably knowledgeable in many areas, and was slowly getting the hang of the place. I could not complain too much.
Marissah and I have retired to our bedroom. We lounge on our bed as we talk strategy still against Curtis. Wine glasses in both our hands.
He's a talent. He's coming off a victory, and he'll be hungry for more.
But against "The Destroyer of Worlds"...his desire for victory shall not be fed. This hunger shall become emaciated until he shall perish.
I've been lucky - yes, I can admit that - thus far. Interference from outsiders in almost all my matches thus far. When I defeated Christenson, he wasn't himself. I am aware of these things.
But our talent has only begun to shine through. The Avarice he faces shall not be the same Avarice that he has seen in our prior bouts.
Let the fool weave himself into traps of his own making.
By his own hand shall we defeat him.
"We agreed that that's how you'll approach that little bastard?"
I nod my head.
"That's my boy."
We kiss.
"Now that's out of the way...let me show you one of my purchases."
What HADN'T she purchased. She gets up off the bed and steps into the walk-in closet, shutting the door.
This, however, should be good.
While I wait, time to reflect, as all of humanity in its stupidity does upon the dawn of one year and the rise of the next.
The close of 2003 was the close of CSWA. I was happy there, but BWWa would prove to be more fertile ground. In a word, domination, unlike anything the wrestling world had ever seen. The Triumvirate reigned supreme. Heavyweight. Silver Dollar. Tag Team Championship. Around the waists of two men.
Two men. The other whom I destroyed.
I destroyed.
Never had I expressed so much hatred and pure malice in what I did to him.
Well done...well done.
And now...in the CAL...the era of the Avarice Hegemony is upon us.
MMV will witness a new dynasty in the House of Lancaster as well.
"Turn around you lucky son of a bitch and behold what you and only you will get tonight..."
I do as she orders.
A Christian Dior pink and white floral bustier, with matching panties. Her long brunette hair drapes over her accentuated chest as my eyes run up and down her legs, and the rest of her. She slides on top of me, and grins.
"Now. When you look into these eyes...and look...and feel what's on top of you...what do you think..."
"March 15."
"March 15?"
She giggles and silently shakes her head in agreement.
Happy New Year.