The Future Is What You Break Of It

“You moron.”

Coral Avalon had heard this particular tone of voice in his wife’s voice before. It’s one that he’s heard plenty of times, usually whenever he was about to do something incredibly stupid. Usually, that involved the one of the many gangs of miscreants that Coral knew over the course of his long wrestling career. Bandits, Rogues, Whoresmen, Mega Job, those kinds of people.

This was a little different, because it’s coming from a place of wishing her husband had actually followed through on walking away from PRIME at the end of the year. It also came from a place of knowing exactly where Coral had called her from.

The Uber driver had dropped the Universal Champion off at the gates of the Farthington Manor.

Coral felt defensive when he responded to his wife with a confused “What?”

“You know what,” Annabelle said, “You flew halfway across the world to visit the Cecilworth Farthington Manor.”

“Yeah.” Coral admitted, looking up at the mighty gates of the residence of the only man in PRIME he could admit truly had his number. He’d never been here before. It’s not like you could just roll up to Cecilworth Farthington and be like “Wanna hang at your place?” so soon after trying to rip each others’ limbs off in a shithole like Memphis. That usually got you put on a list.

“Did you, I don’t know, forget about those letters he sent?” Annabelle asked. She must’ve realized the answer of her own question, because she added, “Of course you have.”

“I haven’t forgotten, Annie,” Coral said, “But we’re going to be partners in Perth. The two of us have to get on the same page against Ivan and Jonathan-Christopher, or we’re in for a bad time. So, that’s why I’m here.”

“But alone? You couldn’t even get that loser Gavin to join you?”

Coral barked out a laugh. He knew Gavin would fuck this up. He would say exactly one word and oops, Cecilworth saw red and pop went the lawyer and all of his favorite limbs. No, Coral knew he had to be here alone. No Bandits, no Kingdom.

“I’ll be fine, Annie.”

As always, the King of Conquerors found himself at the eye of the storm. At this point in his reign, it was a familiar feeling to be surrounded by enemies who wanted what he had. It was a much, much different feeling to be on the home turf of one of those enemies.

Well, maybe Annabelle was right.

“Fine. Well, give Cecilworth a message for me, then, since you’re buddies with him all of a sudden.”

Coral sighed, knowing where this was going, “What is it?”

She told him.

“...You know I can’t repeat any of that.”

*.*

“I’m pretty sure there’s a minotaur living in there”, Cecilworth gestured towards the hedge maze that stood affront the entrance of Farthington Manor. The maze was quite the sight to behold, permanently in a state of being on fire, but never truly burning down. A scientific marvel, of sorts.

“I think he mentioned once that he knew you.” Cecilworth chuckled to himself as Coral wondered how Cecilworth would have a direct conversation with a Mazeataur. Then again, it was hardly reaching the top ten of weird shit that Coral had run into over his life.

“The fact that I can confidently state that this is true is maybe a little concerning,” Coral admitted as he stared at the perpetually burning hedge maze. He wondered, as he did with everything Cecilworth, “How did he do it?”

Cecilworth Farthington then pretended to look at a watch that he definitely wasn’t wearing, “Hoo boy, look at the time, we kind be chatting about mazes and fires and unspeakable evils all day, we have business to attend to.”

As if to prove his point, Cecilworth pointed to his mostly smooth and watchless arms as he hurriedly paced over to the grand steps that led into the manor. “I’d normally give you the detailed tour, but I know we’re on a tight schedule here. There is the matter of us tagging against the sad boi and his burly, but also sad, friend. Everyone in PRIME is always so sad, I think it’s the constant parade of death.” Cecilworth mused his words, but only for a few brief seconds as he gave Coral what he called the “speed tour”.

“Dripping room.”

“The what room?”

“Mysterious basement that makes gurgling noises.”

“Well within the top five of noises I wouldn’t want my basement to make, to be honest.”

“I think Phil’s in this one but I was told to stay out of it.”

“Good advice.”

“Indoor pool. I don’t remember requesting an indoor pool, but Dirk said I did. Hank was happy when it showed up and who amongst us would deprive Hank of joy, I ask you.”

“Not me, Hank’s alright in my book.”

Cecilworth pauses before he bustles past the next room, he looks towards Coral and whispers “I think this one is haunted. Or a radiator is broken. Hell if I’m going to be the one to figure it out.”

“Oh, every manor has at least one haunted room we don’t talk about in my experience. We had one in the old Avalon manor I grew up in that we thought was haunted by Baron Samedi. My brother Merlin - and yes, that is his name - found out it was a broken radiator once he got the stones to check. So… 50/50 chance?”

As the pace quickens even more, it feels like the rooms are now being delivered to Coral at rat-a-tat speed. “Second dripping room for guests. Gossip room. Letter writing room… sorry about that whole thing again, I was a bit heated at the time due to the brain scramblies. Drone strike operations.”

“Pretty standard,” Coral decided to say, even if he wasn’t necessarily convinced that even Cecilworth believed what he stated about what hid behind each of the large wooden doors. It didn’t feel like a conversation worth starting. Mercifully the tour of the manor came to a swift and immediate end as Cecilworth swung open the patio doors at the back of the establishment and led Coral down to the gardens below.

Front and centre in the garden stood an old and busted wrestling ring that had signs of a lot of care. Sure, it was a mess, but someone had clearly tried to keep it in good condition for training.

“Now this”, Cecilworth proudly gestured to the ring, his face beaming in a way that seemed very genuine. “This is the manor's crown jewel.”

Coral whistled wistfully like a wistful whistler, as one did. He’d seen plenty of backyard labors of love like this one before, but he’d never seen one in a manor like Cecilworth’s. He stared at it for a few moments, before asking, “Well, I’ll be. I’m not surprised this is here, but… this is a genuine Cecilworth Farthington construction, isn’t it?”

Almost beaming with pride, like a cat dragging in its first bird to horrified owners, Cecilworth can’t even help himself in immediately responding. “Built it myself in the late 90s. It was either that or wank off to a Spice Girls poster again, so I thought it best to use my energies for something slightly more constructive.” 

As both men descend the steps down to the very rough constructed ring, Cecilworth is almost gleefully skipping down each of the stairs. As he finally reaches the ring, he gives it a gentle pat and a wistful stroke. “I’ve missed you old girl. Me and you have been through a lot.”

Quickly shifting his attention back to Coral, it’s obvious the amount of pride he is currently consumed by. “This is the ring that got me sent to the Americas. If it wasn’t for this ring, me and you wouldn’t be standing here today. Also, my father might still be alive, but given the fact I was fighting someone claiming to be his possessed soul for about six months, I don’t want to dwell on that part too deeply. I want to express how totally rad I think this ring is.”

Those without direct emotional attachment to the ring may not have as strong a feeling towards it as Cecilworth, particularly someone like Coral, who had seen every shoddy indy construction in several continents, and possibly Antarctica.

“I was surprised to get your call, Coral, I do admit. We are teaming, sure, but… despite our differences, despite our battles, despite the whole… letter thing… I just really thought you were the sort of guy who would get this. You would understand the meaning. You would understand who I am. We may be friends, we may be enemies, we may be somewhere inbetween, you know, what’s that expression, enemiends? Yet, we both know that when it comes down to it, we respect this.”

Cecilworth gives a light tap to the ring again, as if a showroom dealer showing off his shiniest of products. “The men we face Perth, you know it, I know it, they couldn’t give a single shit. One is too busy trying to knock himself out of a comatose state, the other is too occupied hovering up members of the PRIME roster as if he was some kind of human katamari.”

“Like he’s trying to build a whole star to put in the sky at the behest of a weird crowned guy in a celestial cape?” Coral offered. He paused, almost mouthing the words he just said with his mouth, and said, “I hung out with Codemaster a lot back in the day, that just rubbed off on me.”

“I’m not entirely sure if I’d classify Max as celestial, but I could see him in a crown and a cape. In fact, there may be some small island we don’t know of where that is their reality.” 

The very idea gives Cecilworth shudders.

Coral shrugged his shoulders and brushed his hand against the bottom rope of the ring. A simple rope, one that served its purpose well. He wondered how often Cecilworth tended to its maintenance.

“When I was a kid, I was told not to pursue this,” Coral gestured at the ring, “Don’t chase your dreams, don’t disparage the family name, all that nonsense. I did it anyway, went broke, became a vagrant, trained with Joey Malone who probably thinks the Spartans were too kind, and lived in a halfway house. So… Yeah, I get it. I might get it more than most people you know.”

There was a long pause. Coral felt a little self-conscious about putting his hands too much on Cecilworth’s ring, so he retracted his hand. Maybe never touch another man’s ring without permission.

Coral continued talking self-consciously after he came to that conclusion, “Now, I don’t know about you, but if I hear Ivan call himself a ‘locker room leader’ one more time, I might die from the cringe. And, uh… I still don’t know what Jonathan-Christopher’s about even after being in the ring. I think he might be a robot. Have you wrestled a robot before?”

Folks, we think the King of Conquerors might be babbling a little.

“I’ve wrestled Jonathan before and I would say he was more cold and slimy. Like a limp fish, or a pod person perhaps.” 

Cecilworth stops himself from dry-heaving at the image of JCH that he has just conjured as he sees Coral’s eyes on the ring.

“Also, it’s kinda easy to be a locker room leader when you have matches that force half the roster into your army. Less leading from respect, more organisation of a Koopa Kingdom. You know, because video games.”

Cecilworth doesn’t know video games very well, but bless him, he tries. Turning his attention back to the man in front of him though, Cecilworth gives a rare dignified nod in the direction of the Currently Crowned Crownless King.

“There’s a truth to us. Different paths, same story Coral. We’re here because we wanted this. We’re here but this is what we have. Well… it’s all I have. You have more now and I have to say, it’s made you stronger. Maybe I should steal… I mean adopt a child. Could give me the edge! Of course then there’d be the whole caretaking schedule and the caring for them and look… I’m a busy man. The point is, no matter what Glue does, no matter what Glue is to everyone year on year, there’s just something about you, my friend. Hogging the spotlight isn’t what keeps you going in this industry… it’s something deeper, isn’t it?”

As if a pet owner giving permission for someone to stoke an adorable corgi, Cecilworth nods at the ring as he speaks, the implied permission to enter the sacred sanctuary of Cecilworth. Cecilworth may not know what a sanctus is, but he definitely knows the sanctuary of the ring.

“You know, Cecilworth,” Coral said as he accepted the implied invitation, “I thought you were going to hire a bunch of guys to fight us in your ring like a bunch of Putties with giant glaring weak points on their chests in the form of outdated Soviet iconography, but… This works, too, I guess.”

Cecilworth pulls out a walkie-talkie that we have no idea how he managed to fit into his pants without any traces of noticeable bulge. He whispers quietly into the message machine.

“Cancel the putties.”

*.*

“You should be destroying that man.”

For a while, Cecilworth barely noticed the voice to his back as he re-entered the manor as he saw his guest off. As he spun around, he came face to face with Hank, which beyond that one fever dream, surprised Cecilworth to know he could actually speak. He paused as he looked at the adorable giant, until he realised he had his unicorn floaty on and was rushing towards the pool. In his stead, where a Hank figure was seconds before, stood Dirk Dickwood, the man who had taken on the role of liaising between Cecilworth Farthington and the founder of Glue, Phil Atken.

“You know what our mission statement is. How are we going to keep people like Hayes and FLAMBERGE in line if they know that you aren’t just training with… but actually BONDING with him. The very idea that you’d want to associate with him, it undercuts every single thing we have ever stood for. If Phil got word of this…”

Cecilworth didn’t pay much mind to Dirk’s words for a few moments, looking back at the pathway and giving a cheeky wave to Coral as he managed to make his way past the perpetual burning maze on the way out. The minute however that Phil’s name dropped out of Dirk’s mouth, there was a head snapping back to Dickwood’s direction that could be described as supersonic in its speed.

“Phil would understand, Dirk. Phil would get it because Phil always knew what the mission actually was. The glory hogs who were here to trade on their past, trade on what they once were. God knows that PRIME is still rich in those names, enough for our young lads to get their teeth stuck into like a juicy steak.”

As Cecilworth hears the Uber pull up, he looks out to see if Coral has got in safely, clearly taking interest in his guest’s wellbeing.

“Coral though, he’s not them. He’s me. He’s fought for where he is. He has earned where he is. You don’t stand against a man in the ring twice, have him take you to your very limit and write him off as some past-it egomaniac. That’s what Ivan is for…”

Almost indignant at Cecilworth’s attitude and response, Dirk replies in a rather petulant manner. “Oh, and you think you can take Ivan? Have you seen that man?”

Cecilworth chuckles. “Bodies snap, it doesn’t matter the shape, the size, I am The Swan after all. Winning through bulk, winning through supposed magical potions that mean a man of his dosing regimen isn’t yet dead in a heart attack, he’s what Glue should target.”

As if trying to push every button that Cecilworth possesses, Dirk is quick to follow up on that very point. “And this has nothing to do with his relationship with Max Kael and what he allowed Max to do over the last year?”

In a rare moment from a man whose normal approach to life is laissez-faire in difference, it’s rare for Cecilworth to get into someone’s face and bark into it, frothing from the mouth like he’d recently been bit by a raccoon. Cecilworth leaned into Dirk’s face real close, as he bellowed “THIS IS ABOUT THE FUTURE OF PRIME.”

“It certainly is!”

This voice, the voice that just concurred, it did not come from the Dirk Dickwood who was currently in the middle of a pants wetting or bowel evaluation situation. No, it came from behind Cecilworth. There he stood.

Or sat, to be more accurate.

The founder.

“We have quite a lot to chat about Cecilworth.”

*.*

“You should be destroying that man.”

Coral had been sore when he returned to the guest room allotted to him in the Farthington Manor. He almost wished Cecilworth hadn’t called off the putties. That would’ve been a fun training session instead of all of those knots he and Farthington tied each other into. He looked up from his bed to see something that he knew he was mildly hallucinating.

He sighed. It was time to have an argument with his own brain. Or, more specifically, the part of his brain that projected a pair of floating T-shades in the air, and a face that wore those T-shades that he recognized as the biggest Crumb to have ever Crumbed. A Salacious Crumb, if you will.

Wait, does that mean I’m Jabba? Jesus, no. I’m at least Boba Fett here.

“Nah,” Coral responded to the shade, “We already established this. I’m not you. I don’t do things the Bandit way just because I can."

“Ha.”

Coral rolled his eyes.

“Okay, yeah, Cecilworth has done everything possible to mess with me in the past. Sent messed up letters to my home and my wife, took the 5-Star belt from me, took my protégés, kept me from advancing in the tournament named for an old frenemy of mine, tried to beat the life out of me…”

He stopped and reconsidered all of these things.

“...okay, and you know, he did participate in the absolute hell-beating of Don Winters and there’s no telling that he won’t do the same to me once our arrangement’s at an end…”

I am really talking myself into a corner here.

“...Okay, look, stop looking at me with those freaky sunglasses of yours, you weird judgemental hallucination coming out of my brain.”

“No.”

Coral counted to ten in his head, reasoning that the counting and the math involved would be enough to scare away the simulacrum of Jiles he’d conjured in his mind.

Instead, the sunglasses asked him a question.

“Why have you not caved Cecilworth’s skull in for all of his slights against you and YOUR WIFE?”

The question gave Coral pause, but only for a moment.

“You’re in my head. You tell me.”

That gave the sunglasses pause. They had no answer for him. After all, they were in Coral’s head, a manifestation of something he could talk to while he was alone in “frenemy territory”.

“Look,” Coral said to the crumbulacrum, “Of all the people in PRIME, everyone I’ve ever known in this company from the Nate Coltons to the Daytona Diamondses… Cecilworth is the one who understands me the most. We just walked different paths once we set out to do this, but at our hearts, we love wrestling and what it can be. That’s why…”

He hesitated, sorting out the thought he had in his head.

“...That’s why, when I’m finally done and my conquest is at an end, he’s the one I’m going to entrust the future of PRIME to. Not Jiles or the Bandits, not Nate, and definitely not Ivan’s crusty propagandist ass.”

The sunglasses merely scoffed, “You intend to entrust the future of PRIME to a manic manchild? The same one that’d strangle you in this very room on the same whim he welcomed you in it?”

“Yeah. Eventually.”

The sunglasses fell silent and eventually faded from Coral’s mind.

It was just him convincing himself that this temporary alliance with Cecilworth was the start of something greater.

The future of PRIME would be in safe hands, wouldn’t it?