The newest attraction in Brookhaven, one of the ritzier neighborhoods of North Atlanta, is a dining and entertainment experience called Cinebistro. To say it’s a movie theater is to sell it short. Your kids won’t be able to drag you here to see the Raya and the Dragon when it premieres later this year. They couldn’t even get into Cinebistro, since it’s 21 and over only. Now, if your artsy-fartsy friends want to drag you out for a gourmet dinner and twelve dollar mimosas and catch the latest Judd Apatow alumnus trying to win an Oscar for drama… Cinebistro. You can chill out in the bar-lobby, appreciating the constantly running black-and-white films on the screen behind the bar and place your food order. You’ll be shown to your seat just before the actual movie begins and a waiter will deliver your meal right to your seat so you can enjoy it while you watch.
On Thursdays, the pre-matinee is live. Bloody Marys and light sandwiches or soup are offered while some local talent recites free verse, or an aspiring musician hoping to be discovered by the type of scouts who frequent gentrified districts and go for brunch, will provide a brand of entertainment that is a mild distraction at its worst, and enchantingly quaint at its best.
It’s one of these midday performances that Montague Cervantes has arrived to see. The showman smiles as he sees her name, Camille Dupont, lettered carefully above the day’s special on the sign just inside the door. He steps out of the chilly Atlanta morning and into the lobby, waiting patiently for a hostess to welcome him.
Camille is better known to Montague as a herpetologist, and he has often employed her affinity for the scaly breeds to perform as a snake charmer in his shows. Her passion, however, is jazz. Camille has invited Montague to critique her small-time, debut performance of “Funny Honey” from the musical Chicago, and he’s been more than happy to oblige. He has to admit, however, that the origin of the number reminds him of the city where he works, and the most recent way his year has already gotten off to a shaky start.
A Renaissance man such as Doctor-Professor Cervantes should be able to shift gears when there’s an obstacle, but the unorthodox Creative Director seems to be getting some thrill out of continuously setting his most unorthodox entertainers in each other’s paths. Montague thought he’d made it clear this past Synergy that his original plan to reach out to the AstroCreeps in camaraderie was scrapped--a decision he’d come to after discovering their subterfuge involving one of his non-wrestling associates. Instead, while he’s been granted the championship defense he preferred at Infinity, Montague finds himself once again partnered with Tempest on what they called the ‘go-home’ show against Carlson Rex and Konrad Raab.
Montague tries to imagine a scenario in which the most bombastic competitors in UGWC are forced to shuffle away angrily with a loss against the least stimulating. What if he and Tempest couldn’t set aside their budding rivalry and clashing ring approaches long enough to prevent one of them from taking a pinfall to the Iceman?
He shudders. While Montague has endeavored to bring a new, entertaining facet to each show he has appeared on since signing his contract, Konrad has been the reliable mime on the street corner, endlessly repeating the same tired and easily recognizable routine time after time after time. Mimes are nothing more than a collection of tropes that haven’t varied since mummery was invented; a melancholy buffoon acting out the same few scenes he has committed to memory, over and over, easily ignored because no one can see the box he’s artificially trapped himself inside of. The only way anyone pays attention to the mime is when they’re forced to, and the most apparent truth is that he’s chosen his own enclosure. Because it’s comfortable. Because it’s safe. He could break free if he wanted, but he won’t. Don’t let that facade of woe fool you, Konrad is perfectly content to--
Hostess: Sorry to keep you waiting, Montague! We’re slammed today!
Cervantes: Camille brought the whole troupe with her, eh?
The hostess looks over her shoulder, unsure.
Hostess: I’ve never seen the guys she’s with before.
Montague’s eyebrows perk up with curiosity.
Cervantes: New blood, eh?
He motions for her to lead the way, and she snags the one page brunch menu from her stand before marching through the crowded dining room. Out of habit, Montague glances up at the screen behind the bar, nodding appreciatively at their choice of Monsieur Verdoux. As they enter an alcove by the stage, he stops dead in his tracks. On either side of his friend are seated Daedalus and David.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Daedalus said with a smirk. Kosnar watched in silence as Montague’s eyes went from Daedalus to Kosnar, back to Daedalus. “Will you be performing this evening? We’ve been dying to see a good show, chap!”
There was something sinister in the smaller man’s smile. He spoke before Montague could answer the question.
“Oh! It was awfully considerate of you to… share… the spotlight on Monday. There’s nothing more irritating than a performer who is so full of himself that he soaks up the spotlight himself, am I right?” Daedalus moved his eyebrows up and down comically, before giving him a cheerful wink.
Montague's eyes search Camille's face for any sign of distress, but she seems her naturally laid back self. Not that a snake-charmer is easy to ruffle, of course, but her normal, seductive, half-lidded gaze is in place. Montague relaxes and pulls out a chair for himself. He addresses his cooperative partner's associates with a clipped tone as he sits.
Cervantes: Gentlemen. I'm here to support a dear friend of mine, nothing more.
He indicates Camille briefly. Knowing her habit of mingling with the crowd, he chooses to believe she came to them, rather than the other way around. The guard is up, however, and his eyes shift from one to the other of the interlopers in his personal life.
“Of course. We understand. I suspect that you’ll be more than all right with us supporting our dear friend at ringside during your championship defense, then?” Daedalus said, his smirk curling into a grin. His eyes locked onto Montague, watching him closely. Kosnar stirred, and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin against gigantic clasped fists.
Montague feels part of himself wanting to lean forward to meet the implied threat from Kosnar. That part is contending with the part that wants to drop back into a more relaxed posture to display an air of nonchalance despite their presence.
Instead, he simply doesn't move at all.
Cervantes: I'd be confused if you weren't both out there. I'm also rather confused why you're both here, while we're being honest. It's far too much of a coincidence that this is the second time, that I know of, you two have been nosing around where my friends happen to be working. Far too… intentional, as well.
After this, he does lean forward, steepling his arms and fingers as he awaits the explanation.
"Well, I don’t find it to be anymore confusing than you nosing around where our friend happens to be working. You know, like Monday, for example.” Daedalus’ tone became sharper in his response. His eyes narrowed, as well, despite his posture remaining the same. Kosnar and Montague were nearly nose to nose.
“But, the more time we spend on the petty details of how we spend our free time, the less time we spend on much more important things. And I’m confident that you can agree with us on one thing… You and Tempest must set aside your differences, or whatever you want to label it as, at least for one evening. The Astro Creeps are not typically motivated and driven by wins and losses, but in this case, we don’t want to lose. Not against Konrad and Carlson. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
Kosnar unclasped his hands and leaned back in his chair, freeing Montague from their silent staredown. Daedalus cleared his throat somewhat impatiently, tapping his fingers against the table.
Cervantes: You're right. It's a waste of time for us to go around in circles, deflecting each other's points. So I'll make a point of saying I want all of this…
He gestures at the venue at large, his left hand resting in the direction of Camille before he drops it on the table with finality. The jazz-singing herpetologist has grown more and more uncomfortable as the conversation continues.
Cervantes: ...to stop. They're not involved. Tempest is. As for Monday, Tempest and I represent a certain… shall we say, operational framework… that Konrad Raab has attested to being unsuited for.
“Okay, in response to your request, we can take it into consideration. You make a known, but valid point about Konrad. What about Carlson Rex?” Daedalus said.
Cervantes: Carlson Rex? You’re concerned I may be worried about Carlson Rex? Let me illustrate how much the former Technician King bothers me or anyone else in UGWC.
Montague tosses a wink at Camille as he gets to his feet. Doffing his top hat, Montague says a few words to the three-piece ensemble before intentionally stumbling onto the stage. He affects a sheepish gaze as he crushes the hat between his palms. Montague places the hat back on his head, crumpled and askew, which heightens his chagrined expression, and addresses the crowd:
Montague: If Someone Stood Up In A Crowd
And Raised His Voice Up Way Out Loud
And Waved His Arm And Shook His Leg
You'd Notice Him
The crowd claps, recognizing the number he’s performing
Montague: If Someone In The Movie Show
Yelled "Fire In The Second Row
This Whole Place Is A Powder Keg!"
You'd Notice Him
With the introduction finished, he begins to sing the ditty, presumably relating what it must be like to be Carlson Rex.
The song finished, the crowd going wild, and even the AstroCreeps looking impressed, Montague shrugs and speaks too closely into the mic, making it pop as he delivers the famous closing line:
Montague: Hope I Didn't Take Up Too Much Of Your Time.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The wind roared in the night. For the most part, all that could be seen was the black sky, commanding its presence in its favorite season. Mostly it was the sky that consumed all attention, skeletons of trees reaching up and swaying to and fro as if begging to be noticed.
Please, see our dance in the season of death. The skeletons dance, despite the expiration of our beauty.
And below them, the silver snow and ice on the ground. It sparkled like a modern vampire. You know the type.
“Do you want to play?”
The tiny voice seemed to be carried by the roar of the wind.
“La la laa da la da. La la laa da la da.”
Out here, it may as well have been the song of the dead.
He stood, against the wind, in heavy black coveralls and a matching black coat. A white ski mask covered his face. His eyes were blacked out. He stared out from behind the ski mask like a much more menacing vampire than what the sparkling snow represented.
God? No god here…
The remains of a building lay in a pile at his feet. A broken frame of what used to be the structure of a giant screen shared the same skeletal wishes as the trees two hundred feet away. The Tempest was at the farmhouse property, like a ghost visiting his own grave.
“Daedalus told me, it would do more harm than good to go back in the past. And yet, here I am. Home.”
Home? No home here…
“He said that, but for the last two months it hasn’t done us much good to watch quietly in the shadows, while the Global Coalition put on their best Tales From the Crypt episode in attempting to build their own pair of siamese twins in Montague Cervantes and myself. Have you piggies seen that episode? It’s a throwback, I know, even older than I am.”
Despite the bitter cold, he spoke clearly, though his eyes did seem to shine as tears from the weather tried to sneak their way out.
“We’re alike, yet so completely different, Montague and I. This… spiral… of cooperating since the return of the Coalition has been tedious at first. But you can feel it picking up steam, can’t you? You can feel it accelerating, and you… I’m talking to you, watching us… You know you can’t look away. You know that as we venture further down the spiral, the speed continues to increase more and more each week. You can’t look away, because you know there’s going to be a car crash. And you simply can’t miss it. And the beautiful thing about witnessing this car crash, is that you know exactly when it will occur. At Infinity. Montague Cervantes, a champion that even I can admit is worthy of Chaos, will defend his honor against the monster seeking for his sequel in the division’s top placement.”
The wind roared. It tried to move him. But the Tempest wasn’t a being that was naturally moved. Take that one as you like. Remember, the more you think about it, the further down the spiral you crawl. Join us down the spiral, won’t you?
“It’s easy for me to get ahead of myself. My saliva accumulates at the thought of it. But isn’t that what they want? They want Montague and Tempest to become so enthralled in their match with one another a few weeks away, that it will allow such as Carlson Rex and Konrad Raab to sneak in a win over us as a cooperative team. Was that your plan, Global Coalition? You sneaky snakes.”
He wagged a finger, and, dare I say, mischievously rather than maliciously?
“Carlson Rex, there’s hope for you yet. Can you imagine the change in your status if you managed to get a win over both the current Chaos champion, and his challenger? It’d be like killing two birds with one stone, wouldn’t it?”
He tilted his head, like a dog who recognized a word like ‘walk’ or ‘treat.’
“I’m curious about you. I’m paying attention to you. We introduced ourselves, but now we get to meet for a second time. We can get to know each other now. Awkward was the first dance, admittedly. But the second dance doesn’t have to be. Give me your hand, Mr. Rex, and let me lead you. Let me do what I did best all year last year. Let me help you unlock the rooms of your mind that you never knew existed. Let me make my mark on your soul.”
Behind the ski mask, he seemed almost to smile.
“On second thought, you may not want me to fixate on you the way that I’ve fixated on those in the past. You may hear my name and feel a chill run down your spine, as if touched by the fingertips of a specter. Isn’t that right, Konrad?”
The wind picked up again. The skeletal trees swayed. The desolate property that surrounded him seemed to move with it. But not Tempest. Never the Tempest.
“I bring a new meaning to chilling, don’t I? You claim to be the Iceman, and yet, the coldest being in the Global Coalition is one that you’ve shunned for fourteen months. Fourteen months, you uppity motherfucker!”
His scream echoed strangely. It was as if it was being carried, and yet being freed all at once.
“So don’t think I’m overlooking you, Iceman. Don’t think that for one moment. On the contrary, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you. So I can show you what the cold really feels like. Good luck finding a contraption to prepare yourself for me, now, Konrad. You’re going to need more than a walk-in freezer and a mask painted to look like me to get inside this mind. The mask, by the way? Page one from the Tempest’s playbook.”
He gasped.
“Oh no, I’m becoming one of them.”
He shrugged. Make of that what you will, also. Think about it.
Are you really thinking about the things that Tempest is saying?
You are, aren’t you?
He can feel you crawling around inside his mind.
Lovely. Keep crawling.
“Konrad, I already know you don’t want to go to war with me. And it isn’t because you don’t respect me. It’s quite the opposite. It’s because you fear me. The truth is, it is I that don’t respect you. I’ve watched you run from me for fourteen months. On Monday, though, I’m gonna gitcha!”
He cackled laughter as he threw his hands up the way one would do while telling the final line of a scary campfire story.
“So… On Monday, Mr. Rex, and Mr. Raab. You’ll know, as Montague and I are leaving, that I’m sincere when I say that I’m not overlooking you. In the coming months, in fact, you’ll look back and realize that Montague and Tempest gave you your worst beating of two thousand twenty one, because we’re both paying attention to you, and we’re both dying to know more about you.”
He sighed.
“Now doesn’t this make you feel better?”
He stripped off his ski mask and glared, his alien eyes seemed to stare in all directions at once.His face was painted, but smeared badly from the sweat and the mask. And, while it seemed he was trying, whether sincerely or not, to make Carlson Rex and Konrad Raab feel better, as he gazed down at what was once his home, it appeared that he didn’t feel much better himself.