Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

[Silver Eagle]

Members of the Jury, I come to you today to present my case. You may gaze at me as a sinner, a man who has committed more horrific crimes than can compare and has yet to face true justice at the hands of the righteous and true. I may be one who has committed such despicable harm to those who did not deserve such pain, dragging them through anguish, through broken glass, through the very inferno itself. I may be seen as the man who started riots that fellow men feared to discuss openly, that men fled from in fear at the mere thought of being dragged in and dragged under. I may be the man that has influenced the masses to follow the unjust path, to pluck the apple of knowledge from that mighty tree and sink their teeth into the wholesome fruit, only for them to fall from their maws leaving only two broken fangs and a throat full of poisonous worms. I may be a man you hate. I may be a man who breeds fear. I may be none of that at all.

As we step forth into this beautiful and dangerous new Frontier, a bright and refreshing light may be cast down upon us all. You may gaze at me as a great healer, a man who brought you redemption and health beyond reason or question. A man who acted as a catalyst to cure your ills and educate your mind in what is correct, what is wholesome and what is required. You may see me as a hero, a valiant vigilante who righted the misgivings and foolish, selfish, despicable actions of the vile and torturous. You may cast your eye and view me as the magnificent redeemer of justice, a dynamic being that lives only to make those around him feel welcomed and loved, the swinging lantern in the darkest of nights, the very moon itself illuminating your way through the thorns and twisted branches of the most malignant of forests. I may be a man you love. I may be a man who breeds calm. I may be none of that at all.

Members of the Jury, as I stand before you, broken and honest beyond measure, I politely request you to consider these factors carefully before you pass judgement on the accused. For my client is all of these things, the love and the hate, the fear and the calm, the poison and the cure. She is one. She is all. She is you and she is me. She is no one, and yet everyone. She has acted selflessly in the face of adversity, trying to save those in need through only love and devotion, yet was nailed to that cross for all your sins as you scorned her with ridicule. She has committed acts that were deemed unforgivable, yet she was forgiven, being baptised anew in the holy waters and allowed to rise again on the third day as one of the glorious many. She has tasted hell, she has tasted heaven. But now, now a new judgement awaits on her ascension to glory.

As I lay here in my bed, battered and broken beyond all repair, I come to defend her, to promote her, to praise her. In your ever judgemental eyes you may have already decided her fate, and my words may well be water off your back. But let me tell you this, this final flourish before the swords are drawn and final battle begins… My belief in her is that strong I would willing lay my life down for her, I would stake my very breath on her success, my own blood for hers.

And I would do the same for her partner as well.

So as I close my passage, the words of a weak and shatter man, a mere mortal speaking rhyme and riddle to men and women of my own standing, I pray you take a look at those I am representing today, For it is rare for you to stand back and gaze upon immortality itself. And their immortality will be confirmed, etched in history forever as they become the most Dynamic of Duos.

Members of the Jury, my name is Bobby B. Barabbas, and I proudly present to you “The Undying” Sophie El and “The Black Swan” Lady Magdalena. Le Pacte de Immortels.

----

Listen as the wind blows
From across the great divide
Voices trapped in yearning
Memories trapped in time

The hotel room was green, a deep emerald green envy that seemed to reach out and touch all that stepped forth into its bright glory. The walls were lavishly papered, with motifs of golden crowns decorating a banner that spanned around the room. The four poster bed dead set in the centre of the room matched the décor perfectly, though the rich velvet cushions adorning it were a rich garnet red. Gold, red, green. It was as if Christmas had come early. Yet Halloween mixed with Christmas, and the frost and sow had formed into another figure, solemn, beautiful and deadly, yes… But seemingly in deep sorrow. Her hair was jet black, finely curled into little ringlets that cascaded like a waterfall down her slender neck onto defined bare shoulders. Her skin was pale, almost an ethereal beauty taken from the pages of a fabled ghost story and brought to life by a necromancer of literature. Her breath was cold, launching little puffs of vapour into the air like a rocket of nature. A single, solitary tear hung beneath her right eye, clinging on for dear life as if it never wanted to leave its master, a child on the first day of school who simply refused to leave its loving parent. The Fair Lady seemed lost within herself, almost too far gone to ever return.

The night is my companion
And solitude my guide
Would I spend forever here
And not be satisfied

Magdalena contemplated the champagne flute and the cliché about it either being half full or half empty. She reached for the lower half, which felt cool to the touch, wet with perspiration up to the edge of the top, which was dry yet warm from the touch of her lusciously painted red lips. A thick lipstick mark of crimson clung to the top, being slightly smudged by wipes from her fingertips. Beads of moisture rolled down her hand, down the neck of the ornate drinking vessel. The emerald green napkin underneath; which once blended so well with the room was now drenched and formed a soggy textured ring where it touched the base. She sipped the expensive French wine, letting the dry bubbles pop in her moist mouth, but even in its rich decadence it seemed devoid of flavour to her. Magdalena didn’t traditionally drink champagne; she was traditionally a red vino connoisseur. 1998 Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame, one of a set of three bottles her beloved Chris Strike had purchased. One for herself, one for her dear ally Sophie El, and a third saved for the following weekend when the Black Swan would be reunited with her love once more. A brief smile attempted to creep out, but it was dismissed as quickly as it came. As she sat there, she looked up to the wall mirror that hung, staring at her reflection with an inch of disgust. She prided herself on a smile so sweet, yet effortlessly seductive and oozing the glamour of a big budget Hollywood picture. And yet here, today it was quite the opposite.

And I would be the one
To hold you down
Kiss you so hard
I'll take your breath away
And after I'd wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes dear

The past fortnight had stretched her from the highest of highs, defeating Jackson Magnum in the All or Nothing Series to claim the title she long desired, the title she had set her heart on from the moment the ink had dried on her contract. That glorious title belt now sat across from her, the Hybrid Championship with her chosen name etched upon the plate. Staring at it now didn’t give her the joy and happiness it once did, now it represented her failure, her inability to take control, her weakness to protect those she vowed to protect. For barely two weeks after she cemented her status once more on the worldwide stage, tragedy had stuck. The one many had labelled as ever vengeful had just that turned on her. Her manager, tied and gagged, strapped to a wheelchair and dangled precariously at the top of a flight of stairs. Her protégé, cuffed to the ropes, beaten black and blue. And herself, scared and helpless in the middle of it all with a choice. Did she sprint back to save Bobby, the man who had aided in her recovery from those cold, dark days in Blackthorn Asylum, the man who helped heal her mind after all she once knew turned their back on her? Or did she sprint to the ring, to save Sophie El from the violent outburst of two men whose ferociousness was driven by jealousy.

Through this world I've stumbled
So many times betrayed
Trying to find an honest word
To find the truth enslaved

She froze. She panicked. The bright lights and deafening roars of the crowd drowned everything out. Her stage fright, ever present from her youth, yet subdued in the face of this illustrious sport came to head. She couldn’t do anything. She took a step towards the artist, the girl who had captured her imagination in ways that she never thought possible, and they drove in a boot. She took a step towards the manager, the man who had spent his waking days ensuring she had everything at her disposal; they threatened to hurl him to his doom. Helpless, worthless, useless. “What would my brother do?” was the question that verbalised itself. In the end, the choice was taken out of her hands. Bobby sacrificed himself, rocking the chair with whatever power still flowed through his body and threw himself down that spiralling staircase. This gave her the opportunity to rescue Sophie, her partner, her team mate, her protégé… though it came at terrible cost.

Oh you speak to me in riddles and
You speak to me in rhymes
My body aches to breathe your breath
You words keep me alive

Good or bad, the alcohol, whilst tasting hollow and non-existent helped her feel like she finally had everything, or really, any non-material thing, a person should want. Her aura decayed at a slower rate than it did for everyone else, she was full of energy at all times, and full of smiles. Now, most of what was once there is sadly gone. Magdalena wondered, was it shady where she was now, or always sunny? She wasn’t sure if she was coming or going. The ever vivid memory of Bobby B. Barabbas throwing himself to his doom flashed before her eyes, his face smashing the steps, crimson oozing from his nose and smearing the gag that covered his mouth. With another flash, one more repetitive like a strobe light blasted her vision, one of Sophie trying to rip her arms free of her chains, not caring if the steel tore at her wrists as she desperately tried to break for freedom.

If she could allow this to happen, if her own blindness in her hour of success could hide what was to come, if she could not support those that depended on her, allied with her, fought with her, how could she enter this world renowned tournament with them at her side? How could she hope to hold it all together and push forward for glory in the Dynamic Duos? How could she stand side by side with her partner and battle her way to the top of the mountain, to defeat all comers, to slay every team in her way? How could they defeat Wulf and Jolyne? How could Sophie trust her to watch her back if she could allow this to happen? How could they be crowned the Dynamic Duos? The pressure, the expectation was too much.

She broke into tears.

And I would be the one
To hold you down
Kiss you so hard
I'll take your breath away
And after I'd wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes dear

Magdalena sat on the edge of the old mahogany rocking chair, going to and fro very slowly at first as she kept pace with her sobs, but becoming more and more rapid as the wet tears mixed with her dark gothic makeup. The Black Swan, wearing what seemed like a long white gown, with diamonds sowed down both sides and held in place by a corset that was black as night, one that pushed her ample curves alluring out. But the image of this almost cinema like beauty, a decadent scream queen breaking down destroyed all of her sensuality, all her sexuality as she curled up into a ball pulling at her hair, scratching at her scalp with long painted fingernails.

Into this night I wander
It's morning that I dread
Another day of knowing of
The path I fear to tread

There was a thud, a clang, an endless array of noises. She heard a voice, a voice that gave her such peace and calm, a voice that made her breaking heart mend and melt at the same time. With blurred vision, tears smearing her view like rain on a windscreen she attempted to look on the one she held most dear. With blurred vision she looked upon the man who had entered the room, who had thrown down his cases and rushed to her side, taking her head in his powerful arms and cradling her like a new born child. He hushed her tears, faint whispers tickling her ears. He brushed her hair back, allowing them to poke out almost as if she were an elven princess. “It is not your fault,” he reminded her. “How could you know they would do that? You didn’t. You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have done something…” Her voice croaked, her decadent Parisian accent resembling a frog more than a woman, the final insult as she stereotypically surrendered into his arms.

“You did everything you could and more. You got to Sophie before they could do any more damage. And Mr. Barabbas did what he thought was necessary. He wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“B-b-but…” she stuttered.

“But nothing. They did what they thought was necessary, and neither of them blame you for your actions, or what happened.” Strike kissed her forehead gently, his warm and sweet breath like a blessing upon her temple. “You can’t let what they did affect you. That is what they want. They want you to doubt yourself. You need to pick yourself up and show them what you’re capable of.” A reluctant grin ached upon her face, almost hesitant for what she must do. She heard his words, “You can do this, this is your time, show them. Show everyone” he stated. “The world is yours. Me and you against the world!” His words were encouraging, it gave her hope. It gave her hope of glory, hope of success but more than anything the hope of a better life. “And in Johnson City, it’ll be you and Sophie against it. And I know you will win. I just know it.”

Oh into the sea of waking dreams
I follow without pride
Nothing stands between us here
And I won't be denied

Yet the wails of the banshee would not halt, the tears would not cease to flow. But in those brief moments, she was replenished. The Brazilian took the brunette by the hand, helping her shakily to her feet. He pressed his lips to the Frenchwoman’s, forcibly, fiercely as if it was the last resort, the last kiss they would ever share. Magdalena resisted, breathless and weak, but the lust burning within her took over as she reciprocated, probing with her tongue. Her knees buckled in ecstasy, her feelings of hell had passed now through Purgatory, that mindless limbo. And now they reached out, taking hold of what was hers passionately… Her own little slice of paradise.

And I would be the one
To hold you down
Kiss you so hard
I'll take your breath away
And after I'd wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes dear

---

I do remember fondly the first time I attended a Frontier Grappling Arts event. It was the 18th of August 2013 in Monroe, New Jersey. I was a welcomed guest of my dear brother, the multi time World Champion Andreas Lasiewicz. Both he and his partner in the Godfathers of Wrestling, Chandler Scott, were leading the charge of Pro Wrestling FRONTIER in what was then the annual FGA vs PWF event. On the way to the arena, my brother spoke at length of how this would be a titanic battle between two warring companies, companies that shared mutual respect yet demanded to be known as the superior wrestling organisation. He told me that all of FRONTIER would have to be at their very best, after all, the last time the two tribes went to war the final scores were even.

The end result was anything but that.

It was a complete whitewash, with FGA not claiming a single victory in a card that showed such promise. Although I was pleased for my brother and his allies in the locker room, I couldn’t help but have a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. After all the words my brother spoke, about respect and how much effort it would take to succeed, it seemed that FGA simply laid down and died that day. All the praise my dearest brother uttered in their name seemed nought but folly, a lie to mask their frailties. I must admit, I was terribly disappointed in the fight they gave, and I put the company to the back of my mind, truly believing that their days were numbered and they would be lost in amongst all the organizations that never were.

And yet, moons passed and I heard whispers. Whispers became chatter and chatter became shouts. I heard of stars emerging from nothing, I heard of champions being lured back from the abyss and legends being made. I heard of sell-out crowds, award winning matches and records being broken. And yet it was FGA that was being mentioned in the same sentences. I could scarcely believe the hype. And yet, one lazy afternoon, I decided to let my curiosity get the better of me, and a lay in my lounge to witness one of their events. And I found that all those whispers, all that chatter and all the crazed shouting was justified.

Strange how now Frontier Grappling Arts is not only viewed as one of the top promotions in the world, but that British federation that humbled them three years ago crumbled under what should have been their finest hour, and are now nothing but a memory. Strange how the world works. And thus, I find myself entering their halls once more, but this time not a wide eyed girl wishing to gaze upon the gladiators in the ring, but as one myself, in what has been widely called the premier tag team tournament in the world. The whispers, the chatter and the shouting justified once more. When the opportunity arose to enter the Dynamic Duos, a tournament that received such delightful praise in the past, I knew I simply had to throw my bonnet in for a taste, and I feel so humbly honoured to be a part of it all. And I couldn’t have selected a more worthy, talented partner than my dear Sophie. Such a creative little gem she is.

I do find it all rather peculiar though, that rather than being pitted against the great unknown, against one of FGA’s home grown stars, I find myself and my partner teaming up against the ever so familiar. Names which I have known from my travels elsewhere. A name with a reputation and a name without one at all. A name that poured scorn upon me and a name that simply doesn’t know better. A name, and a nameless one.

Wulf Erikssen, a name that is well known throughout the world, a name known for never giving up. A name that is sung about, a name that keeps getting back up no matter how many times it is snuffed out. A name that brings smiles, brings humour and then brings a fierceness and determination to succeed that is almost unparalleled in this beautifully violent sport. And Jolyne Dysart, a nameless girl from the shadows, a dark horse that many have never noticed before. A silent whisper in the wind often ignored and passed off as nothing but a rustling tumbleweed across the desert that nobody bats an eyelid at. A ghost that drifted through the Young Guns Cup unnoticed, until finally being spirited away by someone who was trained in the art by a Lasiewicz. These are the two that myself and Sophie must face, these are the two that we must vanquish, the two that we must put beneath our boots and wipe across the floor. Student and mentor against student and mentor, or so they say. I see matters rather differently.

I enter both this match and this tournament with my partner at my side, not as a student or a protégé. She stands beside me as an equal, the yin to my yang. With the pair of you, the dynamic couldn’t be more different. Is she the shield to protect your misgivings, Wulf? Or is poor Jolyne simply lagging behind you, a pet on a leash, obedient and silent as you attempt to turn the world around you into another parody? Will you use her as an excuse, a crutch? Or will you use her to safeguard yourself in the twilight of your career. After all, it is all about you and not her. It always has been. Even when you lie to her and tell her she is your greatest student, it is only to protect your own embarrassment. The world knows that GRENDEL was your crowning achievement in that regard, but your shame in letting him slip through your fingers weighs ever so heavy. A wide world of excuses to mask your misgivings, quite like time after time you faced my brother. What was it? Sixth time lucky for you I believe? There won’t be a sixth attempt against us, Wulf. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” That motto may ring true for your career, but one failure will be enough for you come Vertigo. There will be no try again for you. Nor for your shield, your crutch, your lie. And that may well be the greatest lesson you can ever teach her, the great lesson of disappointment. Don’t worry, Wulf. We’ll help you in this task.

Be ready to taste immortality.