Friendship
Scene One | Off-Camera | 30/11/2021
“Yo, Ravey, baby.”
The deep southern drawl of his best friend was even worse in person than he remembered. It’d only been six months or so, since he’d left Melbourne to come back to the states. It’d only been six months or so since he’d left his best friend James.
“You’re looking old bud. The beers finally getting to you?”
The tap of knuckles against his arm, a playful punch. Even when James was pulling them, his punches hurt. A man who never knew his own strength. Alex smiled widely. He’d missed James since coming back. Phone calls were never enough.
“You’ve been carving it up, sugar. Put down that mouthy little blighter. Ol’ Dollar slap some sense into ya?”
James took a long drag on a cigarette, placing a glass of amber liquid to his lips, sucking it down before blowing a cloud of smoke in Alex’s face. As much as he enjoyed the taste of smokey death to his own lungs, having it in his face was never a desire.
“Carl was… an awakening. No more false king schtick, you feel? We leadin’ these days. Preaching. I always was a little full of myself.”
Alex lifted his own cigarette to his mouth, taking a deep drag. He returned the favour blowing the cloud straight back into James’ face before lifting a bottle to his lips, taking a large mouthful and swallowing it down. They were seating on a porch of a house, a small table between them, angled towards the world.
“Ravey baby, you alright? This business, it does you dirty. You lose yourself son. You lose yourself. I won’t be able to pull you out next time rockstar. I can’t do it anymore.”
Raven nodded, the smile slowly slipping from his face. Another mouthful, another drag. Both men staring off, not looking at each other. James gulped down the remainder of his glass, and butted out his cigarette, leaning back in his chair.
“I got faith in you, rockstar. You’re a winner, I know that. This business gets to you. Slinging beers, puffing darts and rockin’ out. Chasing tail, working yourself up. You’re a superstar behind the bar, sweet tea. Come home, Ravey. Come home.”
Alex put his bottle of beer back down on the table. Lifting a bottle of JD that was sitting ready, refilling James empty. He replaced it on the table, and put out his own cigarette. The click of a cutter, the striking of a match. The cigar raised to James mouth, another handed another over to Alex.
“James, you worry too much. I know me, I know me better than ever. I know the life that exists. Doesn’t work out? I come home. No more. We call it, but. I gotta do it, ya know? I gotta try, redeem. I got to lead. I gotta, be, someone. You know that James. I don’t need the support, but I’d appreciate it.”
Another click, another match, and the cigar up to Raven’s lips. Both men slowly puffing away. Deep, raucous laughter erupting from James. The wheezing soon following, and then the coughing as he struggled to get the air back into his lungs. Raven’s eye cocked, looking at his friend.
“Rockstar, sugar, daddy dictator. I know it all already. I’m making sure you know, ya feel? Ravey baby, I’m always gonna support your dreams. Just this time, I ain’t gonna piss out the flames. I ain’t gonna wrap your head, and I won’t spoon feed ya. You climbing outta ya own grave this time, or you pissing in it. You feel me, Alex?”
Raven matched the laughter, raising his beer and clinking it with James’ glass. The smiles etching them across both men’s faces. Silence followed soon after, then the sound of light snoring.
“Sleep easy, cowboy. Jet lag is killer, eh?”
Raven took the half smoked cigar from James’ mouth and putting it out. He tipped the remainder of the beer down his throat and leaned back in his chair. Slowly smoking his own cigar.
“Thank you, James. It’ll be different this time. I swear it, Mr. Phenomenal.”
Understanding
Scene Two | Off-Camera | 01/12/2021
Roulette. A game of chance. Gambling was never my forte, but I did enjoy roulette. The upside with roulette, is if you know what you are doing you can play to win. Manipulate the odds, read the table, understand. Roulette becomes a game that you can understand if you know the zones to read. No system is perfect, and the chance of losing is ever present, but. Roulette is a game that you can play to win, and win big. Roulette is my game of chance, and I know how to play the board. You learn to win more often in every aspect of life, when you learn to play the game. Odds become favourable, and you always walk away better.
Wrestling was the game I chose to learn. Wrestling is my roulette. The only difference, is I don’t ever want to lose in this game. The only difference is I play this roulette, with a bang. Losing to the house is unacceptable. Losing is unacceptable. I cannot do it. I cannot fail anymore. I promised James. I promised my late father. My mother. I wont ever let another Alexander Remington get the better of me. This game of roulette is life and death for me.
I’ve played this game, my whole life. On the streets, in my own family home. In the ring, behind the bar. It’s a gamble. It’s always a gamble. One that I cannot have bad odds on. One that I need to win the pot. I beat my father’s grip. I beat the starvation and poverty on the streets. I beat the overbearing mentor. Then I lost. I lost big. 7 years is what it cost me. A cracked skull, a body alight. Mocked, laughed at, and forever tainted. Alexander Remington won the game that night and I lost. I never expected to be back.
This is it. This is my game to win. This is my time to win. Roulette was always my game of chance.
Roulette. It’s a game of chance.
Privilege
Scene Three | On-camera | 01/12/2021
“I need you to listen to me. I need you to understand what I’m saying to you. Are you both listening to me? Are you both understanding me?”
The general murmur of a quiet pub on a Wednesday evening. Light chatter, the clink of glass against wooden tops, general life. People drinking away their problems, catching up with friends, enjoying an evening out that they’d come to regret with the headache in the morning. A door opened to back area beer garden. A few tables around, ash trays upon the high top tables. There was but one person in there currently, rugged up in a thick woolen coat, skinny jeans and a brick coloured pair of vans. Alexander Raven.
“There is comfort in places like this, wouldn’t you say? Somewhere familiar. Somewhere that reminds you of the safety of the past. Somewhere that reminds you of where you will go back to. Nightlife, hospitality, bars. They were my life for almost the entirety of my adult life. Before stepping back into the ring earlier this year, I’d hid away behind various bars. Sliding beers, and making cocktails. Listening to the troubles of the sad and broken. Knocking back shots with the regulars and those who paid my lifestyle. A reality that I had become quite accustomed too. A lifestyle that I still can’t get rid of.”
“It’s interesting how many of the broken find themselves toiling away in these places of creature comfort. The warm embrace of a glass of whiskey. The excitement of a shot of a tequila to keep the night going. The glass of vodka and soda to ply the girl you’ve been eyeing. Creatures of the night, and creatures of comfort. Life is about being comfortable, wouldn’t you say? I think so. So, like the broken creatures that haunt these places, I too will haunt them.”
His beard was ragged, his hair beginning to grow out and was sitting at an awkward length beneath the snapback worn on his head. Smoke wafted from a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. He shifted his weight on the stool, ashing some of the cigarette into an ash tray, lifting a glass of a dark brown liquid to his mouth. Taking a slow sip a small stream of smoke blowing out his nose.
“You see, the issue with this however. Is I find it hard to relate to those who don’t understand the difficulty that leads to this comfort. I find it hard to relate to the privileged. I struggle to understand those who think they are destined for greatness. Who think their genetics define their success. I struggle to understand those who spat upon the chances they were given. I struggle to comprehend those who think they are owed anything in life but the subservience and obedience they needed to to acquiesce to to have a perfect life.”
“A happy family, a happy life. To spit upon the success you were offered just by being born is one thing. But to think that your life is better than mine, for it? Repulsive. I stand to lead the broken for a very specific reason. I stand to lead the broken because the broken need the guidance to a better tomorrow. They need guidance to put people in their place and remind them, that we are not below them. We are not, beneath them. Neither are we equals. Through the adversity, reality is clear. Through adversity a strength is born. Through adversity, one becomes stronger, better, and far more powerful.”
He placed the half smoked cigarette on the edge of the ash tray. He lifted the glass up to his eye line, swirling it slowly. His eyes were distant, thoughts brewing behind them. Icy and cold. The slightest twitch of the edge of his mouth, the furrowing of the brow, creasing the space between his eyebrows just slightly. Frustration edging slowly onto his face.
“Brayden Hilton.”
A flash of anger, the tightening of his grip. Then, the flick of the wrist. His arm extended, the sound of glass shattering. Silence following. The indoor murmur quieting, heaviness in the air. Eyes sharpened, aggression in them.
“Third generation? Mocking. Brayden, you are the epitome of the filth I’m talking about. Your very existence does not dictate success. The father is not of the son, as is the mother of the child. Their success does not guarantee yours. Yet their failings will not be yours. I need you to understand what I’m telling you, Brayden. I need you to listen to me. I need you to follow me here. Are you listening? Are you following?”
“Are you understanding?”
Raven slowly lifts the cigarette from the ash tray, another drink being placed in front of him. The server nodding at him, and moving off to sweep up the glass. Alex gripped the new drink in his right hand, his fingers turning white as he squeezed it.
“I do not blame my alcoholic father for where I am. I do not blame my shortcomings upon the abuse he handed me. Yet I do not acclaim him my success. I do not rely upon his memory to hide my embarrassments. I stand as my own. I stand with myself as the peak of my own mountain. The myriad of masks I’ve worn, I’ve worn proudly. I’ve worn them because I know who I am Brayden. I know what I can do and I know where I come up short. I am not a gambling man, but I am one to play the games. I do not need a mouthpiece at my side and a parent’s success to dictate my opportunities. One match is all it took to get me to this opportunity for a chance at the Roulette Championship. One showing is all it took to impress those above to deem me worthy of a chance to put down the privileged pristine disconnected filth.”
“Brayden, you will learn. You need to learn. To stand on your own two feet. I am a leader, a teacher, a king. I am the Broken Messiah, with a message to lead the broken, beaten and disconnected. You Brayden, will learn. The lesson will be beaten into you. The lesson will be extracted from you. The lesson will be permanent. You will learn Brayden. I promise you. For stepping into that ring. Regardless of the match, we aren’t playing roulette. We aren’t gambling. I don’t play the odds, Brayden. I ensure the game goes in my favour, because I do not like to lose. I hide behind no one, and I will never pretend to be due anything but that what I earn. The sins of my father, will bleed upon you. I promise you this.”
”Do you understand me?”
A wash of calm sweeping over his face. His eyes relaxing, brow relaxing, his grip, relaxing. A slow exhale, a deep inhale and then another slow heavy exhale. A sharp inhale of the final drag of the cigarette, his eyes slowly closing.
“I have not forgotten you, Lincoln. Lincoln Daniels, Mr. Incredible. I wonder, Lincoln. Do you take the name to brighten the face of the small children who see you as their own super hero? Do you take the name, because you are so incredibly full of yourself that you think yourself just that? Incredible? I wonder Lincoln. I wonder. I wonder because I need to know the man who stands in front of me. The man who wishes to play the game with me. Whilst there once was four, there is now just us three. Better odds, but all the more stressful, no? Do you respect Brayden and his mockery of talent? A man so bound by the thought of himself being successful due to birth right alone? Does it infuriate you, as it does me? I wonder Lincoln.”
“Are you gambling man, Lincoln? Is roulette your game of choice? What is your poison? I know I’m asking a lot of questions. I’m sorry for that. You are the mystery man here, no? To me, you are. I don’t like mysteries Lincoln. I don’t like gambling. I like a set future. A set understanding so I can see where I need to apply myself. I need to see the reality as it is, so that I can understand when someone is disconnected from it. Fractured though I may be, and broken guaranteed. I need clarity to focus the sight. I need clarity to understand where to lead my flock. My Conspiracy. Did you know a group of Ravens is called a Conspiracy, Lincoln? Those who stand in my light, being led by the words of this Broken Messiah are all part of my Conspiracy.”
A look of mild confusion creased his brow once more. He swallowed down the liquid in his newly acquired glass, wincing just slightly at the burn. His free hand raising to the side of his head, tapping at his temples slightly.
“Brayden, Lincoln. I do beg that you do your best to stand up to me. I do ask that you leave your privilege behind. I do ask that you leave your self-entitlements and beliefs at home for the reality is this. I will lead you to the true reality. One where those full of themselves will falter at the foot of my Conspiracy. One where the fractured are the only ones with clarity of sight and mind to see the truth of the world around them. It does not matter, what the arrow falls upon for this is my reality. I cannot, will not, lose. Do you understand me? Are you listening to me?”
“I need you to listen to me.”
A smile. Twitching at the edge of hard line lips. Eyes opening, focused. Hard, but focused.
Then, nothing.
Silence.
Darkness.
