Post by Dionysus on Feb 18, 2018 21:37:01 GMT -5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”
― George R.R. Martin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
--December 27th, 2017--
The scene opens to the interior of a car on its way northward in Minnesota. The camera pans up to Dionysus, sitting in the passenger seat. Normally, he would appreciate the scenery as he passed through the cities, but this time, he was blindfolded. “You ARE going to tell me where we’re going, right Ben?” Dion asked with both apprehension and curiosity.
“Now now,” replied Ben, Dion’s business partner and close family friend, “You’ll just have to wait and see.” Ben smiled as he continued driving down the road. Benjamin Jones was an older man, on the verge of sixty-five. He, along with Dion, were partners in The Necurat Foundation, an organization that originally was philanthropic to help fight homelessness. The Foundation has since expanded into other ventures, but Benjamin continues to lead in that division. “Besides, it isn’t like we’re drivin’ all the way to Duluth, right?”
“Man, that trip,” Dion chuckled, reminiscing. “My mother gave you hell for taking me all the way up there. All for what, a jazz clinic and a wrestling show?”
“Hey, you LOVED that show.”
“You’re right…I did. I wouldn’t have changed it any other way, you know that.”
“Yeah well…amen to-HEY!” Benjamin shouted, laying into the horn. “Can you believe this? USE YOUR SIGNAL, YOU STUPID IDIOT!” He sighed, then muttered under his breath, “Man, whoever said Minnesotans are the best drivers in the nation, they clearly have never lived here.”
Dion laughed, replying, “I can agree to that.”
They continued driving in silence. Dion could only feel as the car turned in various directions. It was disorienting; he always liked to know where he was going and what would happen when he got there. The dizziness began to kick in, as Dion clutched onto his forehead.
“I know, I know,” Ben said reassuringly, “We’re nearly there.” He paused, thinking a moment while he took another turn. “Oh, by the way, I have some good news for you. We have two new backers with the foundation; Procter and Gamble, and the folks over at Wyndham.”
“You don’t say,” Dion replied weakly. “That’s good to hear. I know we both worked hard to get those backers on our side.”
“Well, don’t count your stock portfolio just yet,” Ben warned. “They haven’t officially signed anything, but they will. That will help with some of the new lines of business you’re puttin’ together.”
The car came to a halt, having finally reached their destination. “We’re here. I’ll let you out of the car.”
Ben set the car in park, fidgeting with the seat belt next.
“Where is here?”
“Soon, Dion. Soon.”
Dion heard the driver side car door open and slam shut, and after a few beats of silence, the door next to him opened. He gingerly stepped out of the car, blindfold still tightly bound over his eyes. Ben grabbed Dion’s forearm to lead him to their destination. Dion heard the jangle of a chain and the sound of a padlock being unlocked…followed by the pained screech of a door opening. A building? Where the hell are we?
“Come inside, Dion,” Ben said, in a serious tone. As Dion stepped in, Ben shut the door behind them. He then led Dion through a second set of doors. “Okay, go ahead and remove the blindfold,” he ordered Dion.
Interesting…there’s an echo…Dion thought as he removed the blindfold. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness, and all he could hear were the footfalls of Ben as he moved across the room. “Ben...where the hell are we?”
“I’ll show you in a minute, Dion,” Ben said distantly. “But first, I have to ask you something.”
“You brought me out here to ask a question?”
“I did. Now, answer my question. Who are you?”
Dion looked around the blackened room, confused. “I’m…Dion, Ben. You know me.”
“Yes…I do know you. I’ve known you for some time now. And to tell you the truth, you don’t seem to be the Dion I knew from before.”
“…What? I’m- “
“Oh, cut the crap, Dion,” Ben responded, annoyed. “We both know that you left WCF in disgrace after winning the title. Your outlook, your manner…hell, your entire being changed that day you lost. You buried yourself in work, not even bothering to return calls from WCF for bookings. You were happy with being a professional wrestler AND a philanthropist…but then you lost. You lost, and instead of meeting the challenge head-on, you ran back to where you were comfortable. You ran to your own fortress of solitude, where nothing could hurt you. You decided, out of the blue, that our mission with the Foundation was not enough to achieve our overall goal. I mean dammit, Dion, you were downright upset with everyone. Your mother and I were worried sick about you. And as for Amy, you don’t know what she- “
“DON’T YOU DARE!” Dion shouted, surprising himself. His fists were clenched, his heart began to race, his breathing rather quick. He calmed himself down. “…Sorry, I…I’m just not ready to talk about that.”
“Yeah, well…its been a scary few months, to say the least. We thought something was completely wrong with you. Then, you get that call to join Action Wrestling, and you jumped at the opportunity like any sad sap at the DMV. Its when it hit me. You’re not who you used to be. You lost your fire.”
“So why am I here, then?” Dion asked incredulously. “Am I here to be lectured by you about meeting and then surpassing my potential?”
“No, Dion. You’re here because you need a reminder of who you are and where you come from. I’m here to tell you…” Ben paused, and suddenly Dion heard a breaker switch flip. A dull hum rang throughout the building, as the power began to run through the circuitry. Dion was then blinded as the lights in the building came to life, forcing him to cover his eyes. Dion rubbed them for a minute, trying to squint and catch a glimpse.
When his vision returned…he saw a familiar sight. Workout equipment, ranging from benches to sandbags, lined the walls. Posters were hanging from the wall, both inspirational and for upcoming events, though these posters have curled with time. And in the middle of this room was a wrestling ring. A ring that Dion knew very well. He caught Ben’s eyes from across the room, his own eyes filling up with tears. “Ben…this is…”
“…Its home, Dion. Welcome home.”
The camera cut to the exterior of the building, a sign prominently displayed out front. Coliseum Gym. This was the place where it all began for Dion. Memories flooded back to him, going back as far as when his own father taught him how to take bumps.
“But…but how did- “
Ben held up his hand. “Let me explain. ‘Round the time you were buried in Foundation work, I found out that the gym was up for the auction block. I guess the poor sap who owned it before couldn’t keep up the payments. When I saw the notice, I knew I had to come and buy it back. Who knows what went on in this building after you had to give it up.”
Dion walked over to the ring, running his hand along the bottom rope. His fingers were coated in dust, but he paid no attention to it. “So…its ours again?”
“No, Dion,” Ben replied. “This belongs to the Foundation. So, by all rights…it is yours again.” He smiled, holding up a key ring. Ben looked around the gym. “Ah…this place takes me back…your father and I, we had big dreams of growing this place into its own federation, did you know that?”
“Yes…I think mother mentioned it before.”
“It never happened,” Ben scowled. “Your uncle Anton had a mind for business, but never signed off on developing the place. Then when he put the business under, it was left to us, your family and I, to pay off the debts. But those are just the bad memories of this place.” Ben sighed wistfully. “No, my favorite memories were from watching you and your old man together in this ring, and watching you run this place as best you could, despite the debts. You had a fire that could never be put out. And when you got that offer to compete on a large stage, dammit, you just went for it without a second thought.”
Ben walked over toward Dion, clasping him on the shoulder. “I brought you here for two reasons. The first, to remind you where you come from. This is your coliseum. This is your home. This is the only place where people will care if you succeed or not…because here, your success helps others to succeed.”
“And I take it,” Dion replied, “The second reason has to do with me succeeding here, right?”
Ben nodded. “I spoke with the board about the last few months. They agree that you need to take some time away from the Foundation and its business to help expand into new markets, as well as continue to maintain as a marketable presence. That is part of the agreement with Procter and Gamble, as a matter of fact. Your job with the Foundation is to be its owner, not its ruler. The board can take care of the company. However, you need to take care of this gym and our presence.” Ben gave Dion a wicked grin. “Now, I bet that’s something you can do, right?”
Dion thought for a moment, then gave a smirk in reply. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Dion started toward the office, when he stopped, turning quickly to Ben. “While I’m out, though, who will watch the gym? I can't exactly be in two places at once, after all.”
Ben clapped his hands together with glee. “Ah, I knew you would ask that. I hired on three trainers to help maintain the place. They’re good men, each with a different background. Taquar Artes will be your primary backup. He has the most experience in managing a gym and will head up training courses in martial arts. Brandon Mores made something of a name in boxing and is looking for his first full-time training gig. Drex Vires is a grappler out of the Red River Valley looking to expand further south. They should be arriving to help with getting the place set up. Make some time to meet with them.”
Dion nodded. “I’ll be sure to do so.”
“One last thing.”
“Yes, Ben?”
Ben cracked his knuckles, a smile still adorning his face. “This tournament you’re gonna be in…give’em hell. For all of us.”
Dion smiled back. “I will. But first…I need to make a phone call.” He walked outside of the gym, admiring the sign out front. It had been some time, and the weather had worn the sign down. Still, it was a home. He wondered who he would rent out the upstairs apartment to…or even if he had left anything up there.
His thoughts collected, he looked down to his cell phone. Browsing through his contacts, he found the number he wanted to call.
“Hey…it’s me.
…
Yeah…I know…but I want to meet…we have some things to talk about…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Quote about wine and-”
“Nope. Tide Ad.”
-David Harbour
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The scene transitioned to a brilliant sunset over a vineyard. Rows of vines dotted the landscape, rolling up to a set of buildings in the backdrop. The camera panned around a small circular grove, where an archway was erected, lined with more vines. Under the arch was a small table, where two bottles of wine sit, and a replica fennel staff stood resolute in the ground just behind the archway. A glass, filled with a red wine, slowly rises into view. “You won’t mind a sample…would you?” The voice belonged to Dionysus, as he stepped into frame. He twirled the wine in the glass, taking a sniff at it in the process. He sampled from the glass, then examined the glass in the light of the sun. “Ah…magnificent. Full-body and robust with just the right oaky hints I was looking for…and the color turned out just right too. A bit more of a bite to it than I would have liked, but hell, better that than being entirely aggressive.”
He set the glass down on the table, looking off in the distance. “Its funny. I never imagined that I would be in a position where I would have my own vineyard. Tending to the grapes, spending countless hours devising different concoctions and experimenting with different flavors. It has left a newfound appreciation in my lot in life. Not to put too much of a spin on things…it is rather sobering, when you stop to think about it. Imagine; a kid from the north suburbs of the Twin Cities, who only had the talent in a niche market of sports, now stands before you, taking in this wonderful scenery and enjoying a nice glass of wine. A new batch of wine, I’d like to add.”
Dionysus turned back to the camera. “Different flavors, appearances, subsets within subsets. Wine is much more than what you can get in a box at your local liquor store. A good wine is like a good book; easy enough to pick up, but it takes a certain palette to really enjoy it. With the right mindset, you can pick out different hints of flavor in a glass of wine. And through this, you can also tell a lot about another person by the type of wine they choose to drink…or even, guess as to what kind of wine they are.”
“This leads us to this particular blend,” he continued, picking up a bottle simply labeled, “D-Day.” Unlike the deep red, the wine in this bottle had a pinker hue to it, with small particles floating about it. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Deruty. Without having really met you, I had to take a guess as to what type of wine you would be. You may be surprised, however, that I could be spot on with my choice.” He set the bottle down, pulling out a corkscrew. “We are two similar men, Mr. Deruty. Tragic backstories that lead us to where we are today. You, looking to continue the story of the perpetual underdog. Myself, continuing the tale of Action Wrestling, and rediscovering the fire I lost so many months ago. There are a few key differences in our wines, though. For one, the aging is based more on our individual tragedies, and suffice it to say, mine had a long-lasting impression on my life. Yours, by comparison, is relatively fresh, though heavy. You can also see that my wine is quite brilliant, free of any blemishes, while yours is a tad hazy. Bear in mind, wine can be very complex; none of these are, by any means, poor qualities; rather, they simply differ.”
Dionysus uncorked the D-Day wine, pouring a glass for himself. “You know…of all the competitors in this tournament…I believe you and I have the most in common. We both have lost much, gained in return, only to fade away later. To be frank, the only difference is timing. My brief stint pales in comparison to yours, and surely you would be the odds favorite to win. That being said…being an instrument of chaos, I tend to overcome said odds. I am a fun statistical anomaly; no one expected me to embrace the understanding of madness and be able to come out of that state with the level of clarity that I have…hence why my wine is free of blemish…quite brilliant.” He swirled the glass, noting the particles lingering as they swirled unassisted. “See…in your case, Mr. Deruty…these blemishes continue to make yourself hazy. These blemishes are your past…the abuse that you have suffered…the family that you have lost…that you chose to immortalize your life after…” Dionysus took a deep drink from the glass, contorting his face at the flavor. “It has left you clumsy in flavor. Unbalanced. Lacking in harmony. With a continued lingering flavor of this past that ultimately ruins the experience. It is not a wine for me…at that point, I may as well purchase a box of Franzia and down the whole lot.”
Dionysus threw the glass off-screen, while he grabbed the bottle labeled D-Day. “This…is the Deruty you are now. And this…” he paused, tilting the bottle forward, allowing the contents of the bottle to spill out onto the grass, “…this is the Deruty that you will become. Cleansed. Purified. Redeemed. Ready for the new batch of wine that you will create. A new start for Action Wrestling's resident broken man! You can become anything you choose at this point! Embrace the freedom!”
Dionysus set the empty bottle down. “You see, Mr. Deruty…choosing to honor your past is touching. Allowing that past to linger longer than intended has ruined your flavor. I may not be a legend such as you, but it is through legends that I learn. I learn about their personality…their strengths…but most importantly, their flaws. After all, what better teacher is there than the past to prepare for the future? We learn from Icarus not to set our heights to high, lest we let our wings melt and plummet back down to earth. We learn from Narcissus to never allow ourselves to be so focused on our self that we forget about where we fit into the great plan. We learn from Achilles that while we may feel invincible, ready to take on the world in whatever it may be that we end up doing…there is always going to be something that breaks through our strength and defeats us. Personally, Mr. Deruty, I do see you as Achilles, ready to reclaim the Helen that is the AW Championship. And I see myself as Paris…ready to strike you through the heel.”
Dionysus’s serious expression softened, letting out a chuckle as he returned to the bottle that remained full on the table. Withdrawing another glass, he began to pour. “But regardless, Mr. Deruty, I do not see you as an enemy, or an obstacle, or a wall, or however other competitors might think of you. Rather…I think of you as a kindred spirit, fighting on opposing sides for the time being, but perhaps, when the moment arises, we will stand together.” He lifted his glass in a toasting gesture toward the camera. “I do hope, Mr. Deruty…that our conflict will end in friendship, rather than rivalry. And I do hope…you enjoy my sweet wine.”
Dionysus drank deeply from the glass, as the camera panned back to the sunset before fading to black.
“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”
― George R.R. Martin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
--December 27th, 2017--
The scene opens to the interior of a car on its way northward in Minnesota. The camera pans up to Dionysus, sitting in the passenger seat. Normally, he would appreciate the scenery as he passed through the cities, but this time, he was blindfolded. “You ARE going to tell me where we’re going, right Ben?” Dion asked with both apprehension and curiosity.
“Now now,” replied Ben, Dion’s business partner and close family friend, “You’ll just have to wait and see.” Ben smiled as he continued driving down the road. Benjamin Jones was an older man, on the verge of sixty-five. He, along with Dion, were partners in The Necurat Foundation, an organization that originally was philanthropic to help fight homelessness. The Foundation has since expanded into other ventures, but Benjamin continues to lead in that division. “Besides, it isn’t like we’re drivin’ all the way to Duluth, right?”
“Man, that trip,” Dion chuckled, reminiscing. “My mother gave you hell for taking me all the way up there. All for what, a jazz clinic and a wrestling show?”
“Hey, you LOVED that show.”
“You’re right…I did. I wouldn’t have changed it any other way, you know that.”
“Yeah well…amen to-HEY!” Benjamin shouted, laying into the horn. “Can you believe this? USE YOUR SIGNAL, YOU STUPID IDIOT!” He sighed, then muttered under his breath, “Man, whoever said Minnesotans are the best drivers in the nation, they clearly have never lived here.”
Dion laughed, replying, “I can agree to that.”
They continued driving in silence. Dion could only feel as the car turned in various directions. It was disorienting; he always liked to know where he was going and what would happen when he got there. The dizziness began to kick in, as Dion clutched onto his forehead.
“I know, I know,” Ben said reassuringly, “We’re nearly there.” He paused, thinking a moment while he took another turn. “Oh, by the way, I have some good news for you. We have two new backers with the foundation; Procter and Gamble, and the folks over at Wyndham.”
“You don’t say,” Dion replied weakly. “That’s good to hear. I know we both worked hard to get those backers on our side.”
“Well, don’t count your stock portfolio just yet,” Ben warned. “They haven’t officially signed anything, but they will. That will help with some of the new lines of business you’re puttin’ together.”
The car came to a halt, having finally reached their destination. “We’re here. I’ll let you out of the car.”
Ben set the car in park, fidgeting with the seat belt next.
“Where is here?”
“Soon, Dion. Soon.”
Dion heard the driver side car door open and slam shut, and after a few beats of silence, the door next to him opened. He gingerly stepped out of the car, blindfold still tightly bound over his eyes. Ben grabbed Dion’s forearm to lead him to their destination. Dion heard the jangle of a chain and the sound of a padlock being unlocked…followed by the pained screech of a door opening. A building? Where the hell are we?
“Come inside, Dion,” Ben said, in a serious tone. As Dion stepped in, Ben shut the door behind them. He then led Dion through a second set of doors. “Okay, go ahead and remove the blindfold,” he ordered Dion.
Interesting…there’s an echo…Dion thought as he removed the blindfold. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness, and all he could hear were the footfalls of Ben as he moved across the room. “Ben...where the hell are we?”
“I’ll show you in a minute, Dion,” Ben said distantly. “But first, I have to ask you something.”
“You brought me out here to ask a question?”
“I did. Now, answer my question. Who are you?”
Dion looked around the blackened room, confused. “I’m…Dion, Ben. You know me.”
“Yes…I do know you. I’ve known you for some time now. And to tell you the truth, you don’t seem to be the Dion I knew from before.”
“…What? I’m- “
“Oh, cut the crap, Dion,” Ben responded, annoyed. “We both know that you left WCF in disgrace after winning the title. Your outlook, your manner…hell, your entire being changed that day you lost. You buried yourself in work, not even bothering to return calls from WCF for bookings. You were happy with being a professional wrestler AND a philanthropist…but then you lost. You lost, and instead of meeting the challenge head-on, you ran back to where you were comfortable. You ran to your own fortress of solitude, where nothing could hurt you. You decided, out of the blue, that our mission with the Foundation was not enough to achieve our overall goal. I mean dammit, Dion, you were downright upset with everyone. Your mother and I were worried sick about you. And as for Amy, you don’t know what she- “
“DON’T YOU DARE!” Dion shouted, surprising himself. His fists were clenched, his heart began to race, his breathing rather quick. He calmed himself down. “…Sorry, I…I’m just not ready to talk about that.”
“Yeah, well…its been a scary few months, to say the least. We thought something was completely wrong with you. Then, you get that call to join Action Wrestling, and you jumped at the opportunity like any sad sap at the DMV. Its when it hit me. You’re not who you used to be. You lost your fire.”
“So why am I here, then?” Dion asked incredulously. “Am I here to be lectured by you about meeting and then surpassing my potential?”
“No, Dion. You’re here because you need a reminder of who you are and where you come from. I’m here to tell you…” Ben paused, and suddenly Dion heard a breaker switch flip. A dull hum rang throughout the building, as the power began to run through the circuitry. Dion was then blinded as the lights in the building came to life, forcing him to cover his eyes. Dion rubbed them for a minute, trying to squint and catch a glimpse.
When his vision returned…he saw a familiar sight. Workout equipment, ranging from benches to sandbags, lined the walls. Posters were hanging from the wall, both inspirational and for upcoming events, though these posters have curled with time. And in the middle of this room was a wrestling ring. A ring that Dion knew very well. He caught Ben’s eyes from across the room, his own eyes filling up with tears. “Ben…this is…”
“…Its home, Dion. Welcome home.”
The camera cut to the exterior of the building, a sign prominently displayed out front. Coliseum Gym. This was the place where it all began for Dion. Memories flooded back to him, going back as far as when his own father taught him how to take bumps.
“But…but how did- “
Ben held up his hand. “Let me explain. ‘Round the time you were buried in Foundation work, I found out that the gym was up for the auction block. I guess the poor sap who owned it before couldn’t keep up the payments. When I saw the notice, I knew I had to come and buy it back. Who knows what went on in this building after you had to give it up.”
Dion walked over to the ring, running his hand along the bottom rope. His fingers were coated in dust, but he paid no attention to it. “So…its ours again?”
“No, Dion,” Ben replied. “This belongs to the Foundation. So, by all rights…it is yours again.” He smiled, holding up a key ring. Ben looked around the gym. “Ah…this place takes me back…your father and I, we had big dreams of growing this place into its own federation, did you know that?”
“Yes…I think mother mentioned it before.”
“It never happened,” Ben scowled. “Your uncle Anton had a mind for business, but never signed off on developing the place. Then when he put the business under, it was left to us, your family and I, to pay off the debts. But those are just the bad memories of this place.” Ben sighed wistfully. “No, my favorite memories were from watching you and your old man together in this ring, and watching you run this place as best you could, despite the debts. You had a fire that could never be put out. And when you got that offer to compete on a large stage, dammit, you just went for it without a second thought.”
Ben walked over toward Dion, clasping him on the shoulder. “I brought you here for two reasons. The first, to remind you where you come from. This is your coliseum. This is your home. This is the only place where people will care if you succeed or not…because here, your success helps others to succeed.”
“And I take it,” Dion replied, “The second reason has to do with me succeeding here, right?”
Ben nodded. “I spoke with the board about the last few months. They agree that you need to take some time away from the Foundation and its business to help expand into new markets, as well as continue to maintain as a marketable presence. That is part of the agreement with Procter and Gamble, as a matter of fact. Your job with the Foundation is to be its owner, not its ruler. The board can take care of the company. However, you need to take care of this gym and our presence.” Ben gave Dion a wicked grin. “Now, I bet that’s something you can do, right?”
Dion thought for a moment, then gave a smirk in reply. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Dion started toward the office, when he stopped, turning quickly to Ben. “While I’m out, though, who will watch the gym? I can't exactly be in two places at once, after all.”
Ben clapped his hands together with glee. “Ah, I knew you would ask that. I hired on three trainers to help maintain the place. They’re good men, each with a different background. Taquar Artes will be your primary backup. He has the most experience in managing a gym and will head up training courses in martial arts. Brandon Mores made something of a name in boxing and is looking for his first full-time training gig. Drex Vires is a grappler out of the Red River Valley looking to expand further south. They should be arriving to help with getting the place set up. Make some time to meet with them.”
Dion nodded. “I’ll be sure to do so.”
“One last thing.”
“Yes, Ben?”
Ben cracked his knuckles, a smile still adorning his face. “This tournament you’re gonna be in…give’em hell. For all of us.”
Dion smiled back. “I will. But first…I need to make a phone call.” He walked outside of the gym, admiring the sign out front. It had been some time, and the weather had worn the sign down. Still, it was a home. He wondered who he would rent out the upstairs apartment to…or even if he had left anything up there.
His thoughts collected, he looked down to his cell phone. Browsing through his contacts, he found the number he wanted to call.
“Hey…it’s me.
…
Yeah…I know…but I want to meet…we have some things to talk about…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Quote about wine and-”
“Nope. Tide Ad.”
-David Harbour
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The scene transitioned to a brilliant sunset over a vineyard. Rows of vines dotted the landscape, rolling up to a set of buildings in the backdrop. The camera panned around a small circular grove, where an archway was erected, lined with more vines. Under the arch was a small table, where two bottles of wine sit, and a replica fennel staff stood resolute in the ground just behind the archway. A glass, filled with a red wine, slowly rises into view. “You won’t mind a sample…would you?” The voice belonged to Dionysus, as he stepped into frame. He twirled the wine in the glass, taking a sniff at it in the process. He sampled from the glass, then examined the glass in the light of the sun. “Ah…magnificent. Full-body and robust with just the right oaky hints I was looking for…and the color turned out just right too. A bit more of a bite to it than I would have liked, but hell, better that than being entirely aggressive.”
He set the glass down on the table, looking off in the distance. “Its funny. I never imagined that I would be in a position where I would have my own vineyard. Tending to the grapes, spending countless hours devising different concoctions and experimenting with different flavors. It has left a newfound appreciation in my lot in life. Not to put too much of a spin on things…it is rather sobering, when you stop to think about it. Imagine; a kid from the north suburbs of the Twin Cities, who only had the talent in a niche market of sports, now stands before you, taking in this wonderful scenery and enjoying a nice glass of wine. A new batch of wine, I’d like to add.”
Dionysus turned back to the camera. “Different flavors, appearances, subsets within subsets. Wine is much more than what you can get in a box at your local liquor store. A good wine is like a good book; easy enough to pick up, but it takes a certain palette to really enjoy it. With the right mindset, you can pick out different hints of flavor in a glass of wine. And through this, you can also tell a lot about another person by the type of wine they choose to drink…or even, guess as to what kind of wine they are.”
“This leads us to this particular blend,” he continued, picking up a bottle simply labeled, “D-Day.” Unlike the deep red, the wine in this bottle had a pinker hue to it, with small particles floating about it. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Deruty. Without having really met you, I had to take a guess as to what type of wine you would be. You may be surprised, however, that I could be spot on with my choice.” He set the bottle down, pulling out a corkscrew. “We are two similar men, Mr. Deruty. Tragic backstories that lead us to where we are today. You, looking to continue the story of the perpetual underdog. Myself, continuing the tale of Action Wrestling, and rediscovering the fire I lost so many months ago. There are a few key differences in our wines, though. For one, the aging is based more on our individual tragedies, and suffice it to say, mine had a long-lasting impression on my life. Yours, by comparison, is relatively fresh, though heavy. You can also see that my wine is quite brilliant, free of any blemishes, while yours is a tad hazy. Bear in mind, wine can be very complex; none of these are, by any means, poor qualities; rather, they simply differ.”
Dionysus uncorked the D-Day wine, pouring a glass for himself. “You know…of all the competitors in this tournament…I believe you and I have the most in common. We both have lost much, gained in return, only to fade away later. To be frank, the only difference is timing. My brief stint pales in comparison to yours, and surely you would be the odds favorite to win. That being said…being an instrument of chaos, I tend to overcome said odds. I am a fun statistical anomaly; no one expected me to embrace the understanding of madness and be able to come out of that state with the level of clarity that I have…hence why my wine is free of blemish…quite brilliant.” He swirled the glass, noting the particles lingering as they swirled unassisted. “See…in your case, Mr. Deruty…these blemishes continue to make yourself hazy. These blemishes are your past…the abuse that you have suffered…the family that you have lost…that you chose to immortalize your life after…” Dionysus took a deep drink from the glass, contorting his face at the flavor. “It has left you clumsy in flavor. Unbalanced. Lacking in harmony. With a continued lingering flavor of this past that ultimately ruins the experience. It is not a wine for me…at that point, I may as well purchase a box of Franzia and down the whole lot.”
Dionysus threw the glass off-screen, while he grabbed the bottle labeled D-Day. “This…is the Deruty you are now. And this…” he paused, tilting the bottle forward, allowing the contents of the bottle to spill out onto the grass, “…this is the Deruty that you will become. Cleansed. Purified. Redeemed. Ready for the new batch of wine that you will create. A new start for Action Wrestling's resident broken man! You can become anything you choose at this point! Embrace the freedom!”
Dionysus set the empty bottle down. “You see, Mr. Deruty…choosing to honor your past is touching. Allowing that past to linger longer than intended has ruined your flavor. I may not be a legend such as you, but it is through legends that I learn. I learn about their personality…their strengths…but most importantly, their flaws. After all, what better teacher is there than the past to prepare for the future? We learn from Icarus not to set our heights to high, lest we let our wings melt and plummet back down to earth. We learn from Narcissus to never allow ourselves to be so focused on our self that we forget about where we fit into the great plan. We learn from Achilles that while we may feel invincible, ready to take on the world in whatever it may be that we end up doing…there is always going to be something that breaks through our strength and defeats us. Personally, Mr. Deruty, I do see you as Achilles, ready to reclaim the Helen that is the AW Championship. And I see myself as Paris…ready to strike you through the heel.”
Dionysus’s serious expression softened, letting out a chuckle as he returned to the bottle that remained full on the table. Withdrawing another glass, he began to pour. “But regardless, Mr. Deruty, I do not see you as an enemy, or an obstacle, or a wall, or however other competitors might think of you. Rather…I think of you as a kindred spirit, fighting on opposing sides for the time being, but perhaps, when the moment arises, we will stand together.” He lifted his glass in a toasting gesture toward the camera. “I do hope, Mr. Deruty…that our conflict will end in friendship, rather than rivalry. And I do hope…you enjoy my sweet wine.”
Dionysus drank deeply from the glass, as the camera panned back to the sunset before fading to black.