Christopher Sheffield raised a glass in the memory of a dead friend to assure he wouldn’t become a dead memory.
It being the fifth anniversary of the death of Charles Dunn, the Original Pulp knew he had to get shit-faced in the annual wake following Charles death during an apparent attempted robbery. It was apparent as nothing was stolen, though it was thought that the man responsible was spooked once Charles had been shot. Why a man brings a bookstick to a cat burglary was beyond Sheff’s detective skills as he continued drinking into the night. Tonight was extra special, as an old friend in James Boyd joined him.
Boyd had joined Alias on this night as he had heard that Sheffield had made something of an annual tradition out of this night… and if Boyd’s favorite wrestler (the reasoning behind which I’ll explain in a moment) was going to have a drink in honor of the man that Boyd had broken through into the business with, and eventually even into the promotion bracket with, becoming inseparable from during those peak years of the 90’s into the double aughts… then damn it, Boyd was going to join Alias in drinking to Charles Dunn.
“Gnarly, can you grab us a couple of Mississippi Punches?”
“What’s in that exactly?”
“Booze, lemons and sugar. Classy enough for a wake but still dirty enough to fuck you up by tomorrow.”
James Boyd looked at Alias for a moment and laughed. He had come a long way since the mid 90’s, and was not a man of mythical proportions. It was a far cry from the blue-ship brat that he and Dunn had found fighting in the crowds, the fabled angry young man of “Flyboy” Brian Sheffield. The same boy that had disappeared by ’98, not returning for five years.
“You know when you came back in ’02 I couldn’t believe that Alias was once Chris Phoenix.”
“S’at right?”
“Dunn was the first to believe in you again. Said in this our life there are no beginnings, but only departures entitled beginnings, wreathed in the formal emotions thought to be appropriate and often forced. He got that from Delmore Schwartz. Said you’d probably even understand that, that he’d seen it in your eyes. After that, everyone else couldn’t help but believe in you after Dunn did.”
Words couldn’t express what Alias felt about that. The conversation between the two inevitably turned to Legends. How Alias was put into the position to save ACW from the clutches of Ethan Winters, a Machiavellian money man who had wrested a controlling portion of ACW away from Dunn and Boyd… and then wanted it all. Alias was put in the position to sace ACW and that is just what he ended up doing. It was why he was James Boyd’s favorite wrestler… and why Boyd wanted to talk to him about something in particular.
“Sheff, I might have lied to you…”
“You’re a cheap drunk aren’t you? I knew it. I’m not carrying ya home though, if you can’t keep up!”
“No, it’s about why I’m here. I’m here for Dunn, of course, but I also wanted to talk to you about Legion.”
“I know the name.”
“We’re looking to return it to the glory days.”
“We?”
“I’m helping Russel David. He’s a good man. Honest.”
“I know him, too.”
“Course you do. And?”
“Really think you can do this all again, starting a fed I mean. Without Charlie?”
“He’ll be there, in spirit.”
“And I’ll be there too? Is that what you’re hoping.”
“You know what you are, Chris? You’re a lighting rod. You draw energy in and lots of it. Even from people that you might not expect. A lot of people love you… and a lot of people don’t.”
“Some people of those people might even be willing to fight me.”
“Exactly. And not just willing to, but able.”
“I’m not a team player.”
“The only team I have made you a part of… well that paid off, didn’t it?”
“I can’t save you and Dunn every time.”
“But you can try.”
“Yeah… I can try.”
Christopher Sheffield and James Boyd would drink into the wee hours of dawn for Charles Dunn, and his legacy. They would talk even more about the past, the present and future.
The future of Legion.
