Strasbourg, Mon Maison

What a time to be French and alive.

Maybe it’s the amount of humming that I’ve been humming, maybe it’s just the rare chance to be home (“Home” home) twice in the span of 7 or 8 months. Maybe it’s the positive emotional progress he’s been making since he’s started working with the lovely people at Wellmind Clinic.

Whatever the reason(s), FLAMBERGE is feeling quite wonderful in Strasbourg as the sun creaks above the horizon. Great weather this week, and everyone is treating him so kindly. From the fans shouting “AHH OUI OUI!” at him, to the barista the other day who designed a little lizard out of the foam on his latte and winked at him...the kids who wanted a selfie, the genuinely warm smiles out of old people. It’s just a love fest out here, in a way that feels more natural to him than it did when he was practically mobbed in Paris.

Parisians are a lot. The Strasbourgeois are familiar, even if this is a side of them he had only ever experienced from the outside looking in.

It really feels like the earth is finally starting to settle under FLAMBERGE’s feet. He’s actually getting to live, and enjoy living. He’s even starting to make connections with colleagues from work! Joe and Sid and Hank have always been there for him, even in the early days of the Glueminati, and now Julien is able to reciprocate some of those positive vibes. That scarf from Anna Daniels now has a permanent spot in his travel bag. He’s on his way for coffee with Rose - that Rose, the one doing her best to rub as many shoulders the wrong way as she can - and she’s apparently even looking for Julien’s advice. Who would have thought - the Neck Collector, Locker Room Confidante?

Even Cecilworth, of all people, seems to be warming up to young Julien. The poor man’s limbs were turned into a fine pink mist from a Conga Line Gone Awry, and he’s still taking the time and effort to serve as FLAMBERGE’s corner man for the rest of this European tour. He’s even advocating for another shot to become L’Uni, which - well, yes, in Julien’s quiet moments he absolutely feels like he deserves it - but it’s reaffirming to hear it from the mouth of someone who’s always seemed like a mystery to him, a fellow Glue Prince living a Parallel Prince Life, always in his orbit but rarely close.

What a guy. There’s a first time for everything.

He’s “in” now, and he knows it. And he’s allowing himself to know it. The feeling he got when he visited his mother in the fall and it smelled like fresh bread was everywhere - well now, it’s everywhere.

…

—--

As a teenager, FLAMBERGE used to walk down these riverside streets of Strasbourg with buildings so old and so warm he’d swear were prettier than Venice or Amsterdam, before swearing that he would catch people looking at him side-eyed and then becoming VERY aware he was the only kid that looked like him in eyeshot…then he would lift the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and try to shrink himself as much as possible, quickening his pace to wherever he was trying to go, the “please don’t look at me” hunch that’s trying and failing to silently scream out “I swear I’m not a threat to you”.

Which wasn’t every day. It wasn’t even most days. But it was enough of them to leave an etching on his heart at the time.

And of course, it didn’t help when his father, Henri, would genuinely be a threat to the people around him.

Young Julien remembers one time when he was 12, getting thrown out of Stade de la Meinau with his father. The French national team was up 4-0 over the Czech Republic, which is normally quite good from the perspective of two Frenchmen, but Henri’s fight-or-flight response when it came to Highly Emotional Moments had been completely obliterated. His marriage was fully dissolved and custody disputes were getting ugly. His drinking problem, which used to be contained to his dingy little apartment in maybe the only side street of Strasbourg that felt cold, was beginning to leak into his public life.

And then “this god damn” French national team.

Henri Lavigne the Soccer Superstar Semi-Successful Pro Footballer For A Few Years was now just newspaper clippings and banners on the walls in those days. Julien remembers that Henri was so proud to announce to his already-on-the-path-to-becoming-estranged wife and son-who-still-didn’t-know-any-better that he thought he might have one more run in him in the late 90’s - and then he sacrificed too much to make it happen. The nights he left Julia and Julien alone to “train” or “go out with the boys” or “focus on his work” far outnumbered the nights he would be “home”, which were usually nights he would “be so physically and mentally obliterated that he would lash out and yell and break things if he wasn’t left alone to go to sleep and snore like a lumberjack”.

And he did his best at the open tryouts - his very, absolute Best best - and it just wasn’t fucking enough. His prime, which was already so short, had passed him by and his best was never going to be good enough again.

Everything hurt. His lungs hurt, his eyes hurt, his knees hurt, his feet hurt. The thoughts hurt, too.

By the time he and his son were watching that French national team match in 2002 (you may be able to guess who begged who for tickets, and who begrudgingly agreed because maybe it would win him brownie points at the next hearing), the dam was preparing to burst in a way Julien hadn’t seen before. The team that smashed the last little bit of personal wish fulfillment right out of Henri’s guts was doing very very well without him. 4-0 up over the Czech Republic by the 50th minute. Julien was thrilled, and cheering French fans all around him were jumping and hugging and buying each other pints jumping up and down WITH those pints and - “ha, c'est drôle papa, on a tous les deux de la bière sur la tête!”, and then punches were thrown.

It gets blurry after that.

—--

And now it’s 2024. He’s outside that same La Meinau - wow, they’re really doing a lot with these renovations, aren’t they? - and it feels like such a different world.

Julien looks down at his phone. He opens Photos.

And he smiles.

Jordan had texted him when he first landed in France about grabbing drinks somewhere, just to chat. Even a year ago, this would have been enough to turn FLAMBERGE into an armadillo and remain spherical on the floor of his room until the voice in his head quieted down long enough for him to fall asleep…but now, he was capable of action.

They went out for cocktails in a quiet corner spot outside Paris - not on a date, not as romantic partners, but as old friends who could laugh again about the shit they got into in high school.

Jordan was doing well now - he lost about 60 pounds and was looking genuinely happy and healthy (and handsome), and in a big “this is why I really wanted to see you” moment, he revealed that he was recently engaged. Jordan had been nervous to share that news with Julien, what with how awkward things had been between them for the last few years, but he felt like Julien was too important of a person in his life to keep this from forever.

There may always be a small part of Julien that carries a small torch for Jordan, FLAMBERGE explained, but more than anything he was so glad to see that his oldest and best friend was happy. He deserved it more than most.

They clinked their glasses and took a few silly selfies. Their name is Ash, Jordan explained, they’re into neurobiology. They actually met at pub trivia while coincidentally visiting Germany, when Ash kicked his ass at the sci fi category while Jordan kicked their ass at the pro wrestling category, which sparked a conversation that sparked a romance. Julien’s name actually came up on that first night, Jordan shared - FLAMBERGE was the reason he knew so much, and it was wild to see this person who served as a mutual life preserver through some very difficult years was now this star in the biggest American wrestling promotion, PRIME.

He would like Ash, Jordan said. Julien agreed, and ordered another round.

It was just…nice. Something about removing the pretext of possible sex just took away so much of the pressure from the conversation, and they laughed for hours like they hadn’t laughed since they were 16.

And just being out. In the world. Before his nightly routine became Retreat Inward Like A Hermit Crab, when he first landed in America he was all about going out. Too much, maybe, and so many of those experiences ended either in him making an ass out of himself or…well, no, that was pretty much the only outcome by the end of it (thank you Las Vegas, thank you Henry Keyes).

He’s actually, actually home. And he feels like he once again understands why the first word of the “French Phenom” nickname he was given all those years ago is just as important as the second word.

It’s a sense of self that, for too long, only came to him in between the ropes of a wrestling ring. There are still moments here and there where it’s not all the way natural…he’s gotten a side-eye or two that flooded back memories of being an adolescent noir dangereux, only to realize it’s someone recognizing him but too shy to say anything. That’s still very weird, and he still hasn’t figured out how to handle those situations.

But yeah…now he can grab a few drinks, on purpose, with a person, and enjoy it for what it is.

La Meinau’s going to look nice when construction is finished, Julien thinks.

And he gets to keep enjoying the hum of it all.

The hummmmmmmmmm…

—--

He gets another text. Awfully early on a Sunday for something like this. It’s about 6:30am, who’s got anything important to say at this hour?

+33 74 ** ** ** **

Saluuuuuuut Julien, super boulot à ReVival contre Adam Ellis! Nous voulons vraiment pousser ce match revanche contre Jared Sykes à fond, c'est pourquoi nous avons augmenté vos apparitions dans la presse cette semaine. Demain, vous avez rendez-vous à 10h, 11h30, 13h30, 15h, 18h, 20h et 22h, mais c'est le jour le plus difficile de la semaine. Le reste de la semaine, il n'y a que 4 ou 5 apparitions par jour. N'oubliez pas la séance d'autographes ce matin à 9 heures. Bisous!

…of course, the marketing machine. Julien wonders if this number is actually Deb Warrenstein’s French phone, or if she’s just rubbed off on enough people in the marketing department that this is how they interact with the roster now. He double checks - yep, it’s 6:32, he’s got coffee with Rose in a little less than half an hour and he can’t linger. Duty calls at 9:00, autographs outside the Zenith de Strasbourg. And there might need to be a pit stop in between.

Julien backs out of the message he just received from the local PRIME marketing offices and scrolls back down to that text exchange he had with Rose to refresh his memory.

…right. She has been having some weird dreams. And obviously, FLAMBERGE is the man for the job in these situations.

He chuckles at himself re-reading his responses to Rose - he’s still kind of a dick, isn’t he. Maybe he needs to work on that. But, his word is his word, and she said she’d meet him at 7 at a little hole in the wall around the corner from his mom’s house.

It’s convenience itself, picking that particular cafe - he wanted to see his mom as soon as he got to Strasbourg, and he plans to see her many more times on this trip, and this place is a quick walk to her house. Even if there’s only enough time for a short visit in between reading the tea leaves of Rose’s dreams and the 15 minute taxi to his PRIME commitments, that would still allow for a quick hug and a chat and a “je t’aime” and to drop off some biscuits he could pick up from that very cafe.

They have these special pear and camembert creations that you just can’t find anywhere else. It dawns on him suddenly that this very cafe may have fed into how he chose his favorite flavor of Brets. Huh.

And so he arrived. A bit early still, it’s only 6:40, but he could use a quiet moment to himself. Lizards do still need their rest after all.

And he closes his eyes for a moment.

…

—--

This is nice. Quiet. Little breeze going. Still tired all the time, but it’s a good tired. 

It feels like I’m finally tired for good reasons. 

I’m tired because of the things I am making happen, and not just tired because of the things happening to me.

It’s a lot of effort and energy to be a leading candidate for The Man in PRIME. I’m wanted. People seek me out, and it’s because of the reputation I’ve earned for myself, and not just to look at the zoo animal that can’t function like a human being around Hayes Hanlon and Cecilworth Farthington.

…

So quiet.

…

Look at that pup over there. Not even on a leash, but he’s not going anywhere. He’s just having a classic little stoop on the porch, waking up slowly just like me. No coffee for you, pup, pups can’t have coffee. 

You look a little like that dog back in Wales. That one that I kept seeing on my long walk. 

Good job keeping it simple over there, bud. 

…

Wales. The land of epiphany. Spending time in Wales and the sprawling battlefield of War Games really did something to me.

I had been violently dragged up a rocky cliff for the better part of a year and a half to become L’Uni, just to lose it right away to Jared Sykes because…well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? Why did I lose it right away?

It’s been a big topic when I’m at Wellmind, this discussion about what is and isn’t “good enough” when it comes to personal achievement. How it turns out that while there may be a leaderboard and championship belts and any number of accolades in my professional career, when it comes to real life, there is no scoreboard for humanity. I was being forced to keep score against something that kept changing the rules, and it’s a minor miracle that I had the amount of success I did without the car fully driving off the edge of the road and down a cliff before ReVival 43. 

L’Uni wasn’t enough to satisfy the terrible driver of my heart and mind, and so nothing could be enough. I would always look at the scoreboard and would always be just enough behind to know that not only can I do better, I should feel guilty about myself for not already having done better. No lead I could ever take would survive the moving goalposts.

Jared Sykes isn’t keeping score with me, he’s keeping score with who he was yesterday. When his kid arrives, he’s probably not even going to be looking at the same fake scoreboards that I imagine for him anymore. He’ll be - well, I don’t know where he’ll be.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? We don’t know where each other is. It was fine with him. It wasn’t fine with me.

I need to make it fine with me.

…

In the meantime, it’s nice getting out some frustrations.

Sorry Adam Ellis, but that’s what happens when you align with Team We Call Ourselves Good Guys. You had it coming just as much as that handsome chin of Dabney Doubleday had it coming, but I’m glad that at least our match wasn’t for your championship from Appalachia - I googled Kentucky and West Virginia and I don’t want to go.

There’s so much about who I became, what the idea of “FLAMBERGE” became, in those darkest of dark times that needs to be reconciled. And so much of it has to do with the people on that team.

Nate Colton is just…I want to see good in people as much as possible, the Wellmind people are emphasizing this as a major point, but I just can’t with him. You can’t “aw shucks” at the world so hard when you’re as handsome as Nate and his brothers are and when your dad loves you and when you’re so successful that there are entire tournaments and companies built around how great the Coltons are, and boy I’m getting heated and should probably breathe for a second.

…yep. Take a second. Check the time. 6:50. Give yourself the space to work out whatever else you need to work out. Then lower your heart rate before you have to talk to Rose.

…

Ok. So obviously, losing to Nate Colton, we have to correct this.

And then there’s Brandon Youngblood.

The two of us got INTO it, fighting at press conferences and generally making each others’ lives miserable. I showed my loyalty to Phil Atken and my belief that if Youngblood was such a worthy Universal Champion, he wouldn’t have to use the ropes to break up the submission hold Atken had applied, and so I simply prevented the ropes from being his cop-out.

And then, well. He did something similar to me, and I lost the Five Star title.

To Nate Colton, of all people.

I wasn’t even in the ring for it. Brandon Youngblood made sure of that.

He’s the second man with the unresolved business in PRIME. Let’s count it, 7 members of the hypocrite team Sykes…4 of their necks currently sit on my mantle, 2 of them remain at large, and then.

Jared Sykes.

The one who would probably admit that he never saw himself being the one to stop my unbeaten streak, because once again, out of every member of his team at War Games - he might actually be the only sincere person.

How brutal is that?

…breathing. Ok, we’re good. Check the clock.

…7:00. There’s Rose, right on time.

…

—--

FLAMBERGE and Rose are having a surprisingly pleasant conversation, although the topics are certainly “out there”.

Rose has been having these dreams, she explains. Something about “endroits minces”, the thin places, and this unshakeable feeling that she can feel her mother’s presence. No need to tell Julien Lavigne twice about the powerful connection between a child and their mother, he shares. He knows all too well.

But he really has no idea what she was talking about when it came to the fairytale stuff. It seemed so real to her, though, and with how quickly the conversation was flying by and with how easy the service was in this cozy little pocket cafe, it became 8:30 before he knew it.

“Merde”, he thinks to himself, realizing that he’s running out of time to swing by his mom’s place.

Thankfully, Rose made the opening for a pivot easy, and Julien convinces her that his mom may have some answers. She’s just around the corner, and a taxi is right here. Let’s go, she says.

They get in and make the trip. Julien slips the driver an extra 100 Euro to keep the engine running, he has somewhere he’ll need to be in a hurry after this. The driver gives the thumbs up.

That bread smell…ahh. Still there.

They approach, and Julien knocks.

…no response. I guess it is still a little early on a Sunday, let’s knock again. He does.

…voices.

Voices plural?

…

Finally, slowly, the door creaks open. Julia Lavigne pokes her head around the crack of the door, until he sees that it’s her beloved son. Beaming, she swings the door wide open and goes for the biggest hug, which is reciprocated. He introduces his new friend Rose - they wrestle for the same place, and she has been talking about the thin places.

The thin places, Julia responds, OF COURSE she knows all about the THIN places. She invites Rose inside and nervously - nervously? - asks if Julien is staying too, because he’s still at the door. No, mom, I’m so sorry to make this quick - but as soon as this autograph thing is done, he’ll come back for lunch. Be nice to Rose. Merci, je t’aime. They hug, he turns to leave.

And then.

…

He hears him.

Henri Lavigne: C'était Julien? C'est sa petite amie ou quoi?

…

…

His chest clutches. His face grows cold and his guts sink.

…

And it’s back.