(Or, Going the Hell Home to March to Glory, collage on mixed media.)
Ya hear that, Hollywood? That wheel of luck you talked about last week just kept turning, turning, turning till it landed on ol’ Xander Azula…but your luck is running out.
It’s not lost on me that we share something in common heading into this week, Brian…we’re both looking to make a statement, both looking to get a spot at March to Glory, and this weekend is our last chance. The difference between you and I, however, is that whereas you keep talking and talking about it, I take a far more direct approach…a more violent one.
And that means beating the living hell out of you at Chaos, for everyone inside the hallowed halls of Madison Square Garden to bear witness to.
Everyone watching at home gets to see a former HOW World Champion get the beating he’s owed, as I quite literally punch my ticket to March to Glory.
You promised to play spoiler against Conor Fuse last week, and where did that get ya? All that effort, all that potential…wasted.
You bring this upon yourself week after week after week, Brian…and it starts to grate on my nerves after a while. Watching you try your best, trying to reach for that hint of glory that you had all those years ago…and it just keeps being out of reach.
And now look at ya. From the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. From title reigns to practically begging for a spot on the show.
So what’s your strategy this week? You ready to get your ass kicked by the Fighter again?
Because my eyes are on getting to March to Glory, and unlike you I don’t plan to walk around backstage crying about it…I’ll just take you down a notch or two, and all for the sake of proving my point the only way I know how.
There’s just one stop left on the road to March to Glory, and when the dust settles it’s gonna be the Executive who gets left at the station while the train rolls on.
New York City
Outside this gallery we find Xander Azula standing on his own, his eyes focused on the front entrance as his Eternal Circle followers finally arrive on this chilly winter’s day…sans Thomas Crowne, presumably told to stay back after his recent bout of insolence against the Head Disciple. Vagn Dahl approaches first, carefully carrying the canvas that holds Xander’s first piece of art…an action that draws a smile from the Fighter, clearly enjoying his work as an artist as he turns his attention back to the front door of the gallery.
“Well, time to see what the critics have to say. Shall we?”
Dahl and Mysti look at each other with some hesitation before nodding in agreement, and the trio make their way into the gallery. They head straight for the reception desk, where they are greeted by a young woman tied up in a phone call when she notices the strange looking group approaching. She hangs the phone up, her gaze shifting from Xander to Vagn to the painting before raising an eyebrow as she raises an inquiry.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, actually,” replies Xander with a smile and a nod. “I’m a fledgling artist and I would like to submit my art for consideration in this fine establishment.”
This, naturally, garners a look of confusion from the receptionist as she glances over at the painting, noticing the singular blue stroke of paint and the smudge of red.
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid we’re not taking submissions at this time,” the receptionist states plainly, her focus still centered on making heads or tails of the artwork that Xander has presented. “Is…is that blood?”
Xander and his followers just look at each other for a moment in silence, before the Fighter retorts with a nervous chuckle.
“What? No, but it is a red viscous liquid so you’d be forgiven for being mistaken.”
“Um…okay,” the receptionist replies once more, still giving a slight stare of concern at the piece before coming back to the main point of the conversation. “All the same, we aren’t taking submissions at this time but if you leave a card we can contact you when that changes.”
This brings a grin to Xander’s face as he reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a business card to hand over to the receptionist. Written on card? “XANDER AZULA, COMBAT ARTIST,” only further confusing the woman receiving the card as Xander speaks up once more, his grin only getting wider as he looks around at the visitors walking around.
“Say, is anyone at this gallery a wrestling fan?”
Man, I can just feel it in my gut.
The times, they are a-changin’…and anyone not adapting is gonna get swept away by the waves of progress. I’m lookin’ at you, Brian “Hey, Look At Me, I Used To Be Somebody” Hollywood…I cannot stress enough just how much I’m looking forward to this match…to beating you from pillar to post, to make a name for myself at your expense.
Or have you forgotten what I’m capable of when pushed hard enough?
Did you not see what I did to Bobbinette Carey when she underestimated me? Do you not remember what I did to you in that cage, when you tried to talk your shit on me? And now I have all the time in the world to make your life an absolute nightmare.
And when I’m done? When the ref raises my hand in victory?
That’s when ol’ Xander moves on, taking whatever spot is granted to him at March to Glory…and you’re left to wonder what the hell to do with yourself.
Maybe you can hang out backstage and twiddle your thumbs until you’re given the green light to run down to that ring.
Doesn’t matter to me, my eyes are on the prize.
A chance to really sink my teeth into this new venture. An opportunity to begin the artwork that I feel most comfortable with.
And thanks to you, I can finally start to shine for the artist I truly am.
A master stroke of genius as my art finally takes shape…as you finally find yourself unable to achieve the one thing you wanted so badly this past month. You wanted this attention, didn’t you? Isn’t that why you kept banging on about that Wheel of Luck?
Well, it all comes spinning back around…and that wheel comes to a crashing halt at Chaos.
Your luck just ran out.