University of Maryland Medical
Center (Baltimore, Maryland)
June 27, 2008
It had been a long time--over seven years, if his memory
served him correctly--since he had been inside this place. The last time was on Thanksgiving Day of
2000, when his father underwent surgery to remove his larynx and some of his
lymph nodes that had been overrun by cancer.
The result of the surgery left his father cancer-free, but unable to
speak in his own voice any longer. In
the time span since the surgery, he had almost forgotten what his father's
natural voice sounded like, and the only reminder he would have is if he
listened to his own. A lot of people
said that he sounded so much like his father that it was uncanny. He could never tell the similarities between
the two, to be honest.
There were quite a few in his family who said that Will
had the looks of his father when he was young.
But as crossed the threshold into room 408, he would be hard-pressed to
agree with them.
His father lay asleep in the bed, looking a bit wan. He was half his normal size (and like Will,
Mr. Prydor was by nature a big man), and seemed to be severely weakened. A lump formed in Will's throat as he walked
towards the bed, and sat down next to his father. He had asked Elyssa to let him do this on his
own, and she agreed to it, knowing the history between the two. Now, as he watched his father sleeping
restlessly, Will closed his eyes in deep thought. He knew his father had to be tired of holding
on, of dealing with the pain he had endured over the last few years in addition
to the memories of 'Nam
that he knew were always lurking beneath the surface.
Will's reverie came to a screeching halt as his
stepmother, Tammy Prydor (nee Williams) came into the room behind him. He didn't have to look to tell it was
her. The smell of stale cigarette smoke
alone was enough to give it away. A
moment later, she said, "So I see that you do have a conscience after
all."
Her tone of voice was always enough to get under his
skin. He knew she was trying to get a
rise out of him, as she always did.
However, what she failed to realize is that for one of the rare times in
his life, Will was genuinely pissed off.
So she was a bit shocked when he replied, "Well, at least I have
one. I don't continue to smoke around a
guy who has already suffered from cancer once, and can't help to protect
himself when he breathes. You've never
bothered to think about that, have you?"
"I hardly think this is the time--"
"I think it is.
When do you think it's going to be time to talk about this? When your fucking habit has killed him?"
"Don't you dare speak to me in that type of
language!"
"I'll dare if I want to. I know for a fact that you hate my guts. Given how often I was called a 'lazy
good-for-nothing bastard son of my father' by you, I know all too well what you
think of me. And yet it's ironic that
it's your bastard son who is always in trouble with the law and is nearly
getting himself killed."
"You leave my son out of this, you overweight pompous
ass!"
At this, Will shot up from the chair and stood in front of
his stepmother. He towered over her by a
good foot or so, and stared down at her.
"No. You listen to me, and
you listen good. I know you hate
me. The feeling is mutual. The only reason I have tried to remain civil
to you for as long as I have is because of that man laying there in the
hospital bed. But enough is enough. You can curse me until you're blue in the
face, but I refuse to let you walk all over the both of us because you think
that you are beyond the courtesy of common sense. I know, without even asking, how this
happened. It's because you are still
smoking after you saw what happened to him, and it's affecting him even worse
than it did before.
"For one who always wants to harp on the truth,
Tammy…let's face it right now. He is
lying in that bed because of your actions, and so help me if he passes on from
your actions, you're going to wish you never heard of me. They say hell hath no fury like a woman
scorned…I say bullshit. A woman scorned
is nothing next to what I'm going to be like if you piss me off any more. That is no bullshit wrestling promo line, no
cliché statement, nothing like that. It
is the truth, and you would be wise for once in your pathetic life to
listen."
Tammy's face was beet red, and she looked like she was
about to explode in Will's face when a synthetic voice spoke from behind Will.
"That's…enough, you two."
Spinning on his heels, Will turned around to see his
father trying to sit up further in the bed.
Gently, he walked over and helped Donald Prydor get in position, while
Tammy sat on the chair Will had recently vacated. Once everything was settled, the elder Prydor
spoke again, making certain to take a breath every few words.
"Tammy…Will is right.
I heard everything. Your
smoking…needs to stop now."
Will refused to let a look of "I told you so"
cross his face as his stepmother looked at his father. "But, how can you say that?"
"How can you…always choose to…support your asshole
son?"
She wasn't expecting that to come out, and she looked as
if she had been literally slapped in the face.
Donald turned to Will. "I
know you…have a match in…New York
against…that Danger guy. Go get
him."
Will nodded, and took his father's hand, once large and powerful
but now a mere shadow of what it once was.
"I will. And after him, I
will be bringing a title home to us."
"If you don't choke again," came the muttered
reply from Tammy.
Will looked up briefly, and then turned his attention back
to his father as the elder man said, "I know you…have a flight…to
catch. Make me proud."
Will nodded once again and stood up, walking by his
stepmother as he left. As he passed, he
muttered, "I'd rather choke, and be free and clean, than be the mother to
a drug-addicted bastard jailbird. Guess
I'm the winner after all." He
walked out before she could make a reply.
For once, let her sit for a while and stew over something he had said.
Hell, he might actually be surprised if she put some
honest thought into everything.
\___(^)___/
Residence of William
Prydor (Baltimore, Maryland)
July 7, 2008, 2:19 a.m.
My body is sore.
I am in pain all over. I almost
feel like I am at the end of my endurance after the match last night in New York. But as I step into my shower, I realize that
I cannot afford to stop now. Not with
this match on the horizon…one that I have been waiting to have for two months.
I made the mistake once before, on May 4 of this year,
of thinking too lightly about my opponent.
The result is that I lost my third title match in NLW and gained a
reputation thanks to some annoying dick at ringside. In thirteen days, I get a chance to rectify
that.
Draco, you had better bring your best ranting and
raving to the party this time. I'm not
about to underestimate you yet again.
You can bring back your snide comments about how I'm not original in my
trash-talking and your parables about the Three Phoenixes if you want. I highly doubt you can find something better
than that, anyway.
The point is, when you dropped me with that superkick
on June 22, you woke up a part of me that I had not felt since my match against
the Ice Man, and we all know what happened that night. What happened to Aph and Buford at the tag
tournament will be as nothing compared to what you're about to go through.
You've said that you're used to the abuse, that you can
take more than most mortals and still press on.
Still, I'm led to wonder. How
long can you last in the Blaze of Glory, Draco?
I have a feeling that at Uprising, we're going to find out.
This time, history will show a different result. The Phoenix
will rise triumphant. And a new Legacy
will begin in NLW. No one--not you, not
Harvey, and certainly not Society--are going to stop me this time.
I will see it done to the very end, by any means
necessary.
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