The Agony and the Ecstasy
I: Tuesday, March 1, 2005: MCI Center,
Washington DC, after RDGIV
"Ooo shit...that hurts, watch it woman."
"No wonder you lost you bastard you can't even handle an ice pack."
She plunks it on my head leaving it for me to take care of my broken body. Broken physically. Mentally steeled.
I hear her mumble something before I slip off into my own world. I close my eyes...
...Irony is a strange mistress. She has her own sense of rage, revenge, and of course, humour.
The wounded warrior befell my eyes that morning in New York City at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Only a few miles away, a few hours later, I would become it. Wounded. But unlike that sculpture that bore that name, I could not go on.
On my back I lay hearing the count of three of the referee. Defeated. By Christenson who would I admit go on to perform impeccably in the Match Beyond. For this I salute him. In him I think I have found a tremendous foil. He has not seen the last of me...nor heard the last from us.
I owe salutations to another man as well.
Seamus Finnegan.
He did not disappoint. He came back as I knew he would.
He came back with a vengeance as I knew he would.
But in terms of repayment for the sins I gladly committed against him; he has only begun.
I realize this fact and accept it.
But he should prepare himself as well.
For the sins we committed against him have but scratched the surface. There are more to come, and we shall not be penitent. The Destroyer of Worlds shall not be timid, shall not take defeat as an enemy, but shall embrace it. For we are stronger. Stronger than before. And stronger shall we become.
It is with this strength that I yuke from failure that we face all comers yet again. There is a new era dawning, and it began with Ultra Raptor. And it too began with ourselves and Angelina Bishop.
OLW is still ripe fruit for the taking. Much has yet to be decided. But whatever is decided. We shall be there. At every moment, with patience, zeal, guile, shall we watch and move where we may. Watch.
But now in but thirteen days, the most important day of my life is upon me. It is to that that my mind must now turn as I pledge my soul and heart yet again to this, the woman I love.
He's fallen asleep it looks like. I walk over slowly trying not to stir him, as I sip some champagne - on hand just in case he won the Match Beyond and claimed the CAL World Title. So much for that. Fucking disappointing. Couldn't even beat that bastard Christenson.
I shake my head and another sip of champagne. Might as well not let it go to waste.
He should have won that match. Why didn't he prepare for Finnegan better? Hell, why didn't he just go to his house and break his legs, or hire some mercenaries to take care of business. That's what I would have done. I've grown use to his failure though when it comes to these big shows.
Frankly his success thus far in OLW hasn't really shown me anything. He had better success back in BWWa, but then again that's when he was with Finnegan and Thane, they were there to cover his ass. He must know...he must know deep inside that he can't make it on his own for very long. He needs me. Badly.
And thus he reaches out again, this time to that bitch Bishop. His flirtations with her? Just another sign of his neediness. What the fuck is with his insecurity?
But.
If he can reap from it. If that damn bitch can bring him and more importantly, me - fame, glory, renown? All the better. Let him fuck her if needs be if only to further my own immortality.
I decide to sit on the arm of the chair as my Avarice nods off quietly. My Avarice.
My Robert Lancaster. My fiancé. My husband to be, in only thirteen days.
I am of course pissed off. Pissed off that Robert insisted the Queen would not attend, despite his meeting her twice. He never even asked! Pissed off that we can't have a huge wedding since it'll be just some pathetic civil ceremony, and of course pissed off that Charles and Camilla had to steal our thunder by planning their wedding for less than a month after ours. Fuck them. I'll make her look like the horse she really is when the world sees me in my Vera Wang original. Sometimes I doubt Robert knows how lucky he really is...
My first marriage was one for love. Sájon was a brilliant man, a scholar, and fucking hot to boot. He wasn't too good with his money though, and that vexed me. Then I met Robert in New York City at that little hotel bar in September 2003. I didn't tell him I was married, nor did I care to. He was hot, was loaded, so I had him. And I grew a taste for him, so I kept him. Now he's mine.
As are his titles and lands and half of all he owns. To the world I will now be Marissah Whitely Lancaster, Duchess of Wessex.
Her Grace.
The Duchess.
And the whole world will refer to me as that, and they all will have no fucking choice. And if I can help it they will curtsy too. I will be second to no one.
Now. If only a son or daughter of ours could succeed to the Duchy of Wessex, and not that little brat Edward. But I can't think such awful things...I'll be his new mommy. Perhaps things can work out by themselves.
I giggle out loud as I finish my champagne. Avarice stirs.
He moans and complains about me having awoken him. I smack him on the back of his head.
"Bloody bitch. You're all the same. No good and rotten to the core."
I chuckle again. "That's Mrs. Bitch soon. And that'll make you Mr. Bitch so watch your tongue jack ass."
He grabs my arm and pulls me onto his lap, and I laugh as he begins to kiss my neck.
"No wonder I love you."
I look down to his Chain of Nobility, that ancient silver relic representing his rank and stature as Duke of Wessex, which hangs around his neck. It caught my eye as the light glimmered off it briefly.
"No wonder I love you too."
"Ooo shit...that hurts, watch it woman."
"No wonder you lost you bastard you can't even handle an ice pack."
She plunks it on my head leaving it for me to take care of my broken body. Broken physically. Mentally steeled.
I hear her mumble something before I slip off into my own world. I close my eyes...
...Irony is a strange mistress. She has her own sense of rage, revenge, and of course, humour.
The wounded warrior befell my eyes that morning in New York City at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Only a few miles away, a few hours later, I would become it. Wounded. But unlike that sculpture that bore that name, I could not go on.
On my back I lay hearing the count of three of the referee. Defeated. By Christenson who would I admit go on to perform impeccably in the Match Beyond. For this I salute him. In him I think I have found a tremendous foil. He has not seen the last of me...nor heard the last from us.
I owe salutations to another man as well.
Seamus Finnegan.
He did not disappoint. He came back as I knew he would.
He came back with a vengeance as I knew he would.
But in terms of repayment for the sins I gladly committed against him; he has only begun.
I realize this fact and accept it.
But he should prepare himself as well.
For the sins we committed against him have but scratched the surface. There are more to come, and we shall not be penitent. The Destroyer of Worlds shall not be timid, shall not take defeat as an enemy, but shall embrace it. For we are stronger. Stronger than before. And stronger shall we become.
It is with this strength that I yuke from failure that we face all comers yet again. There is a new era dawning, and it began with Ultra Raptor. And it too began with ourselves and Angelina Bishop.
OLW is still ripe fruit for the taking. Much has yet to be decided. But whatever is decided. We shall be there. At every moment, with patience, zeal, guile, shall we watch and move where we may. Watch.
But now in but thirteen days, the most important day of my life is upon me. It is to that that my mind must now turn as I pledge my soul and heart yet again to this, the woman I love.
He's fallen asleep it looks like. I walk over slowly trying not to stir him, as I sip some champagne - on hand just in case he won the Match Beyond and claimed the CAL World Title. So much for that. Fucking disappointing. Couldn't even beat that bastard Christenson.
I shake my head and another sip of champagne. Might as well not let it go to waste.
He should have won that match. Why didn't he prepare for Finnegan better? Hell, why didn't he just go to his house and break his legs, or hire some mercenaries to take care of business. That's what I would have done. I've grown use to his failure though when it comes to these big shows.
Frankly his success thus far in OLW hasn't really shown me anything. He had better success back in BWWa, but then again that's when he was with Finnegan and Thane, they were there to cover his ass. He must know...he must know deep inside that he can't make it on his own for very long. He needs me. Badly.
And thus he reaches out again, this time to that bitch Bishop. His flirtations with her? Just another sign of his neediness. What the fuck is with his insecurity?
But.
If he can reap from it. If that damn bitch can bring him and more importantly, me - fame, glory, renown? All the better. Let him fuck her if needs be if only to further my own immortality.
I decide to sit on the arm of the chair as my Avarice nods off quietly. My Avarice.
My Robert Lancaster. My fiancé. My husband to be, in only thirteen days.
I am of course pissed off. Pissed off that Robert insisted the Queen would not attend, despite his meeting her twice. He never even asked! Pissed off that we can't have a huge wedding since it'll be just some pathetic civil ceremony, and of course pissed off that Charles and Camilla had to steal our thunder by planning their wedding for less than a month after ours. Fuck them. I'll make her look like the horse she really is when the world sees me in my Vera Wang original. Sometimes I doubt Robert knows how lucky he really is...
My first marriage was one for love. Sájon was a brilliant man, a scholar, and fucking hot to boot. He wasn't too good with his money though, and that vexed me. Then I met Robert in New York City at that little hotel bar in September 2003. I didn't tell him I was married, nor did I care to. He was hot, was loaded, so I had him. And I grew a taste for him, so I kept him. Now he's mine.
As are his titles and lands and half of all he owns. To the world I will now be Marissah Whitely Lancaster, Duchess of Wessex.
Her Grace.
The Duchess.
And the whole world will refer to me as that, and they all will have no fucking choice. And if I can help it they will curtsy too. I will be second to no one.
Now. If only a son or daughter of ours could succeed to the Duchy of Wessex, and not that little brat Edward. But I can't think such awful things...I'll be his new mommy. Perhaps things can work out by themselves.
I giggle out loud as I finish my champagne. Avarice stirs.
He moans and complains about me having awoken him. I smack him on the back of his head.
"Bloody bitch. You're all the same. No good and rotten to the core."
I chuckle again. "That's Mrs. Bitch soon. And that'll make you Mr. Bitch so watch your tongue jack ass."
He grabs my arm and pulls me onto his lap, and I laugh as he begins to kiss my neck.
"No wonder I love you."
I look down to his Chain of Nobility, that ancient silver relic representing his rank and stature as Duke of Wessex, which hangs around his neck. It caught my eye as the light glimmered off it briefly.
"No wonder I love you too."