Transient, Like Shifting Water. (2,000 words)

His posture was closed off; The familiar, haughty, stern cross of his arms, the inscrutably cold eyes.

"Thank you for this 'intervention'," Daniel bit off each word through clenched teeth, "...Told you before, I'm fine..."

Rumiko had led the intervention, had herded him into this office, locked the door. Staring at him with flashing eyes. "You aren't fine, Daniel. None of this's fine! What you did Monday..."

She chokes, looks away. Then, when she looks back, there's fear and hatred in those eyes, loathing of his choices, and yet... "None of this is fine."

"Uh-huh." His eyes flick over to the other in the room, standing apart, watching. "Dion, you're in on this too, huh? You agree with little miss landlady, that I'm losing it, that I'm regressing?"

"It's more than just... your attack on Corey Black... It's your attacks on the Triad. It's your arming children of this neighborhood to be soldiers, it's - "

"Told you once, I've told you a thousand times, I'm protecting what we have, I - "

He looks at Dion, wild with disbelief, barely concealed rage, as if Rumiko just can't get that he absolutely does see this as an extension of the Vanguard's mission statement.

"No, bullshit. That's a rationalization you tell yourself. You did - all of this, because you're in your own way. In your own head."

"I'm done with this. Get out of my way," he snarls, moving to the door.

"No? Consider that you snapped the harshest at Bacchus and Black, because they called you on your shit."

His eyes come up, flashing, "Because they stood in the way of me getting what's mine."

"They didn't stand in your way, Daniel..." Dion speaks. His eyes, slitted, move over to his partner. Dion stands up to him.

"You did."

"Consider every time you lost this year, Daniel... and consider what Bacchus was trying to tell you, that you wouldn't have him to blame anymore when he was gone."

"The only thing stopping you, every time... has been you. Your self-loathing leads you to blindspots. Your self-hatred of your own dark side gets you in your head. Everything can be traced back to you."

He turns, fully to face Dion. "You think this because..."

"That self-loathing, the little voice inside you that's held you back all this time that says you were never meant to be there, competing for those."

Seething, he stands up, looking Dion in the eye. Wanting to say something. Not able to.

If the only thing standing in my way is me...

"Then I have nothing to fear."

"I think it's more than you're regressing, Daniel... I think this whole year, you've been missing that one element that reminds you that, flaws and humanity and all, you're still worth a damn, and I -"

"Enough," it's a growl, but a quiet one.

He storms out the door.

---

There's a saying that once struck a chord with me - in the sense that Buddhists tend to believe all suffering is part of our human experience we must work to eliminate.

Before you start your path to actualization, to enlightenment, always remember to chop wood, carry water. After the path has begun, chop wood, carry water. Every step of the way.

There's multiple ways to interpret that, but I like to compartmentalize my goals this way; I'm aware that I sometimes outstrip myself and focus on my end goal as a home I deserve to plant myself in.

I boldly declared that my goal last week... had it publicly notarized on canvas, written in Corey's blood raining down from the turnbuckles.

If I want to get there, I'll remind myself you can only go as fast as what's in front of you.

If you put the work and intention into it, then anything that blocks your path is transient.

Like shifting water.

---

The leaden clouds were about to burst, washing the dirty gutters of Japantown with a cold, steel rain.

It came to him, as those bon-mots of wisdom he'd learned in the dojo as a literal child often did, that doubts were temporary, if you let them, washed away by rain.

He breathed out.

When he opened his eyes, there was a blonde woman standing across the street, her long legs locked in a prim posture, both hands nervously gripping the handle of her purse, her demeanor waiting for him to give access and acknowledge.

He squinted, as the rain began to fall on both sides of the street.

".....Michelle?"

---

This is perhaps a softer approach than you'd expect me to take, but an honest one.

Last week was vengeful, wrath and rage. This week is intention, determination.

Focusing on one single opponent and giving it everything I have against them, historically there hasn't been a damn person that's been able to stand against me.

Take, for example, our friend Teo.

If there's one person in this tournament that understands an aspect of chop wood, carry water, it's him; It's the Zen version of wherever you go, there you are. Life goes on. We make it work. We do the best we can.

It's always interesting to see Teo outside of the confines of Cruiserclash, there's always that initial shock where Teo bites back harder; Stuns the world and cuts off someone like Addy and reminds us he is damn capable of not just the fortitude, but the grit to really be a threat at the highest level.

When he loses? When he gets screwed, takes a semifinals exit, misses out on a near thing?

Oh wells! The work of a Gent is never done! Right back to Cruiserclash to film goofy segments flinging t-shirts or hamburgers into the crowd with the Two Gents.

Back to competing at the lowest possible stakes against the same dwindling field, the latest crop of scum, to rise to the top of a stagnating pond.

You think I hold you in contempt, Teo. You, actually, in the promos for Uprising, seemed to believe that I sneer down my nose at you... the show you stand for.

I don't.

I lament the low standards.

It's a theme I've pondered a few times in my tenure here; the cages and prisons of comfortable familiarity we build for ourselves, the mediocrity we allow ourselves to stay in because we keep ourselves busy and engaged there.

It keep us calm when we lose. To have that, "shucks champ, we'll be alright" attitude.

There's a bravery in venturing outside of your norm once and then going right back to work where you're at. In deluding yourself that you stay because you have pride in the brand, you have pride in the titles you've won.

It's also incredibly easy to sit in one place for a very long time and never experience true growing pains and that is what I track with Teo Blaze.

It isn't, as Addy tried to pontificate, you hold yourself over a whole brand as a morally-centered protagonist or superman. You don't.

In fact, you've shown, through the devil-may-care smirks, the flashes of you putting on your old mask, there's moments where you're capable of darkness that reaches the depths of a barrier reef.

But ya haven't changed one iota in the last two-to-three years I've paid attention.

The evolution of your character isn't charted by the one-off weeks where you bare your teeth and imitate the action of the tiger, Teo.

It's the week-to-week progression of who you become as a person to get where you want to be and I haven't actually seen... any movement there in a dog's age.

Every week you sit somewhere that nobody really cares about, in a setting tied to your central thesis, basing an elaborate metaphor around your opponent that week.

I'm not bashing that. It's worked wonders for you when you don't have stakes. You are a Cruiserweight legend.

But when you're put on the back foot? When someone cheats you, like Romeo Finet, or Bryan Blaze, or any of the times you were cost the Cruiserweight Tag Titles in that rotating door? You laugh it off. You vow to get them next time.

You give these beta-ass knuckle-dragging mouth-breathers ample license to just roll over top of you.

We've seen it so many times it's become a meme, to me.

How many times have we seen you cost big, and you just went on with life, went on with your insipid t-shirt sales, your merchandising and your cute little friendship with Andre, as if friendship was the magic that got you there?

No, I saw through that this year.

You believe I don't know who I am anymore. You believe you see me questioning my methods, you believe that I'm at odds, tearing myself up over the conflict my actions have wrought and the belief that I'm ostracizing myself from the ideals Dionysus and I stood for.

You don't see me letting the same shit pass with myself that you let fly on the regular.

When Johnny Bacchus screwed me over, I didn't just shrug it off happily and go about waiting for the next tournament, I smashed his fucking head open and made it so that he would not wrestle here anymore, point blank.

When Corey Black.... well. I didn't stand for that, either.

I'm always fully myself. You see that as me questioning my path, when I'm still doing what I did before.

Methods change, like water.

I'm in the mode of a raging flood, and that erodes every bit of high ground you stand upon.

My path's always been set... I don't stop until I prove I'm the best.

I don't live with the low bar you set for yourself.

You, Teo... it showed in your exit against Regan last year that you really don't understand how to respond when someone meets you, not just prepared, but ready to step their game up. To evolve, and grow themselves, and push to another level.

You don't understand how to fight back when someone matches or exceeds your capacity for darkness.

You think it's a matter of fighting harder, with honor. That you're just a Blazing Knee away from setting the world on fire.

This is where your head gets held underwater until the bubbles stop, Teo, because you're about to be extinguished again.

We've hit the point where Teo exits every single time in these shindigs... where you give it all and you try so hard, but your committment to victory is just a coinflip and a suggestion that maybe you can pull off the shock of the night.

Your will, though... that's as easily blown away as that ill-conceived house of cards metaphor you tried to employ when I teamed with you.

How'd that end, Teo? When we played it your way, and a predator like Kyle Kemp took advantage of your weak attention to coming first and were the first one he smashed with a chair?

When you lose (and you will) you have the right to just play it off like always, and this entire exercise will just be another outing you let slip out of mind.

You're about to get put down.

'Cause I'm not Addy, someone barking toothlessly, snarling about being a villain, yet with an easily targeted shatterpoint that you, coming under the radar can hit with genuine, unforeseen insight.

I'm not even the ones who have sent you from this tournament in the past, or your early, unfruitful entrees' in Trios.

I'm more than the victories you allow to sluice through your fingers because you grasp at them like trying to cup your hands and drink from the ocean.

Perhaps you saw it last week as I was wringing every last drop of "Deathproof's" blood. Seen the change. Felt the waters rise.

But this is an entirely new chapter I'm writing, as I smash my way week to week. Godkiller by Godkiller. Bucket by blood-soaked bucket.

Chop wood. Carry water.

Step over the bodies as I climb.