The Moon

“You still good?”

Silvio leaned out the front door of his tattoo parlor, one hand holding the frame while the other held a cell phone to his ear.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Zane held the burner phone – recently acquired – to his ear, pacing slowly down the alleyway next to the shop. He looked a bit uncertain.

“I guess I don’t need to see you.”

“Guess not,” Silvio agreed.  “Let’s try a little farther.”

While Silvio knew the cosmic entity attached to him subsisted off of chaos, spectacle and madness, that it might also sap the big man’s insanity hadn’t occurred to him.  So it happened that he had gotten to have an actual conversation with a lucid Zane King and learn a little more about his current predicament.  The ‘escaped science experiment,’ gimmick wasn’t fake, and his mind was split between two different personalities: the violent, animalistic, ‘Big Guy,’ and the exhausted, amnesiac, ‘Little Man.’  Silvio had guessed that if closer proximity to him increased Zane’s lucidity, distance might decrease it.  With their tag match coming up, knowing just how long a leash they had before the Big Guy took over would be important.

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’ll keep walking.”

King couldn’t ignore the nervous vibration in his own body; his heart felt like a kick drum. It was a strange feeling, this lucidity he hadn’t felt in… hell, he had no idea how long. Years? He was so used to experiencing his own life as a passive observer. Now he’d discovered that somehow – and he still had no clue how – being around this quirky, ink-slinging babyface allowed him to think clearly, even if only for short bursts of time.

The strangest part, maybe, was that he was almost afraid of flying on his own wings again, so to speak. There was a comfort brought on by being able to shut out reality and let someone bigger and angrier call the shots. That vulnerability was something he wasn’t used to.

“So far so good… I think we’re at about 15 feet? Should I try going to the end of the alley?”

“Go for it,” Silvio said.  

“Alright, I’m gonna go just a bit… bit…”

Zane’s voice trailed off. Over the phone, Silvio heard a throaty noise like a wheezing dog.

“I think we found our limit-!” 

Silvio left the doorway, sprinting after Zane, hoping to catch him before he lapsed entirely into his less stable persona.

When Silvio rounded the corner, he could see Zane swaying to the left and right a bit erratically, one hand clutching his hair. The phone lay on the pavement, temporarily forgotten. He snarled with his head bowed, drawing wheezing and uneven breath.

“Give me back… my TEETH–!!”

Swerving around Zane to get in his line of sight, Silvio held up his hands placatingly.  “It’s cool!  Nobody’s got your teeth but you, Zane!”  There was a tiny part of the artist that was afraid the big fellow might chokeslam him before he became lucid again, but they were partners for now.  There had to be a certain level of trust between them.

There was a tense moment of uncertainty, but as soon as King’s eyes settled on Silvio again, he seemed to wind down. His shoulders relaxed, and the grip he had on his own hair loosened until he sighed, dropping both arms. He looked a bit like he wanted to pass out.

“That’s a headache. Ow.”

“I think that answers an important question for us.  Let’s go inside, get you some water, and talk strategy.”  Silvio scooped up the burner phone before placing a guiding hand on King’s arm.  “It’s going to be interesting.  The teams here are kinda mirrors of each other.  You and Mitch; me and Jon.”  Leading him back inside and gesturing to a tattoo chair for King to sit on, Silvio locked the door behind them and went to get his guest some water.  “Our fighting styles are wildly different, but that might work for us.”

By the time the pair were settled back down in the tattoo parlor, King seemed to be doing better.  He took the seat on the tattooing chair with a sigh, getting his bearings again. It was such a difficult feeling to describe – like falling asleep suddenly on his feet, waking up having lost time. Robbing himself of seconds, minutes, hours. Weeks, months. And yet, he was vaguely aware of this and that that had transpired within that gap.

Coming back to the present, he accepted the glass of water as Silvio returned with it, accompanied by a nod of thanks.

“Well, I’ve fought Willis already, so I know what to expect there… more or less. I don’t know a damn thing about Mitch Heart, though.”

Silvio didn’t want to fight Mitch.  The Heartbreaker seemed like he had started to trust the Oracle, and getting into a tussle with him was likely going to be a setback. 

“He’s ruthless,” Silvio said as he pulled up a stool next to Zane.  “He strikes me more of a boxer or brawler than a wrestler.  Seemed hyper-vigilant when I met him at the gym – could be past trauma.  And he isn’t one to flinch at a bit of the old ultra-violence, as it were.”

A bit of the old ultra-violence? That almost stirred a memory. Something he’d known before. King suddenly found himself craving a cold glass of milk.

Hunh.

He slumped forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, nursing the water instead.

“Sounds like the type of approach I could contend with… you wanna let me handle him? I can keep him off you. Maybe give you some room to focus on pinning Willis down instead.”

“That’s probably for the best.  Willis is a high-flier like me.  We’ll be doing our flippy shit while you and Mitch beat the tar out of each other.”  Silvio grinned.  “Of course, we could practice a little, ‘Fastball Special,’ if you’re up to it.  Since you can throw Jon, so you can definitely throw me.  I could also use your shoulders to get higher off the ground – make more of an impact on my target.”

King hiked a brow in interest at that.

“Not a bad idea. I don’t know how lucid I’m gonna be, but I can still rely on muscle memory… if we take some time to practice the motions, hopefully it’ll stick and I can get the Big Guy to cooperate.”

He snorted a bit, taking a sip of water and shaking his head. “You should practice climbing me so the lunatic in my head gets used to it. Didn’t think I’d be saying that today.”

“No one ever expects to be where they end up,” Silvio said.  “I figure if our cooperation means more skulls being bashed, the Big Guy will be more likely to acquiesce.  You really know your stuff out there.  You’re strong and intimidating, but you’re also technically sound.  I think you’ve done this before.”

Had he done this before?

King hadn’t really considered it yet, but… maybe Silvio was onto something there. He did feel perfectly at home in the ring. He felt… good. Natural. Ready. At first he’d thought it was just because the Big Guy wanted to fight and fight and never stop… but he seemed to think about his approach. Even spectating from inside, Zane could tell that his mental guardian wasn’t just throwing blind punches.

“Maybe,” he concurred, nodding a little bit. “Hell if I know. If you’re new to this, though, I couldn’t really tell. I’ve seen your fights. You look confident up there.”

“Shucks, Zane – I’m gonna blush to my bones,” Silvio laughed, fluttering his lashes.  “I never thought I could do this sorta thing.  But, I put the time in, did the training, and before I knew it I was flying through the air with the greatest of ease.  I wasn’t sure about it at first, but it’s been amazing.  I found my tribe, y’know?”  He thought of Adrienne with her Queen of Swords card and Kohaku’s vulpine smile.  Even the short time he’d had with Zane was nice. 

Surprisingly, that brought a little smirk to King’s face. Maybe the most positive expression Silvio had yet seen on him.

“That’s a good feeling. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of thing yet, but I’m glad you trust me enough not to bail on this card. Who knows–maybe it’ll show the Big Guy we don’t have to threaten to eat every new person who steps into our line of sight.”

“I think that’d help you to make friends and influence people,” Silvio said.  “And I’m glad I didn’t bail, either.  I thought my lungs were going to crawl out of my mouth when I saw that card, but I knew I needed to try and connect with you.  Everybody deserves a chance.”

It occurred to King in that moment that Silvio was the first person to give him a chance since he’d set foot onto the roster.

His eyes softened a bit, and his shoulders relaxed.

“Thanks, kid. That’s honestly brave of you, all things considered. I hope I don’t let you down.”

“I get the feeling you’re not gonna,” Silvio assured him.  “C’mon – let’s head to Carnage and get a little practice under our belts.”

---

ARE YOU GOING TO TELL HIM ABOUT US?

The artist frowned.  Ever since that meeting with Zane, Spooky had gotten a lot mouthier.  Maybe it was a result of it being fed more regularly or King being a constant stream of cosmic horror snackage.

“You sound like a middle schooler asking their friend to see if their crush likes them.  I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him right now.  He’s got enough on his plate.  Telling him, ‘Oh, by the way, the Lovecraftian being dialed into my brain thinks your insanity is delicious,’ won’t do him any favors.”

BUT YOU WANT TO.

Silvio, who had been in his work room preparing pieces of his tattooing equipment for a cleaning in the parlor’s autoclave, froze.  

YOU WANT SOMEONE ELSE TO KNOW.

“Shut-up.”

YOU DON’T–

“I said, shut-up!”

–WANT TO BE–

“Shut the fuck up!”

–ALONE.

“I am not alone!” Silvio spat, slamming his hand down on the counter before him.  “I have Adrienne, and Kohaku–”

AND NONE OF THEM KNOW WHO YOU REALLY ARE.

“Oh, fuck right off with that.”

  NONE OF THEM KNOW YOU WERE MURDERED IN A BASEMENT BY A CULT TRYING TO BRING ABOUT THE APOCALYPSE.  YOU WERE USED AGAINST YOUR WILL TO ADVANCE THE AGENDA OF PEOPLE WHO WANTED POWER AND IT LEFT YOU IRREVOCABLY CHANGED.  SOUND FAMILIAR?  SOUND LIKE SOMETHING A CERTAIN LAB RAT KING MIGHT FIND RELATABLE?

“I am more than what those people did to me.”

TRUE, BUT IT IS A PART OF YOU YOU’VE ALWAYS BORNE ALONE, AND THAT HASN’T BEEN EASY, HAS IT?  NOW YOU HAVE SOMEONE WHO MIGHT ACTUALLY BELIEVE YOU, RELATE TO YOU, AND RELIEVE PART OF THAT BURDEN.  BUT YOU’RE TOO AFRAID OF WHAT THAT MIGHT SAY ABOUT RISING CARNAGE STAR, SILVIO LEON.

“What are you talking about?”

YOU’RE GONNA PLAY COY?  OKAY.  LET US SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU.  YOU’RE EVERY BIT THE FREAK THAT ZANE KING IS, BUT YOU THINK YOU’RE DIFFERENT SOMEHOW BECAUSE PEOPLE CAN’T SEE IT ON YOU.

Silvio’s gut gave an uncomfortable twist.

OH, WHAT, NO WITTY REJOINDER?  NO CHARMING WINK AND SMILE?  

“I don’t think I’m better than him.”

NO, BUT YOU HAVE BETTER P.R. THAN HE DOES.  YOU GET TO HIDE YOUR WEIRDNESS.  HE DOESN’T HAVE THAT LUXURY.  YOU GET TO PASS AS NORMAL; HE CAN’T.  HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES HIM FEEL?

“…alone.”

AND WOULDN’T IT BE SUCH A BALM FOR HIM TO KNOW THAT HE WASN’T?  TO KNOW THAT HE OWES THE RELIEF HE FEELS WHEN HE’S AROUND YOU TO THE FACT THAT HE IS PART OF A COMMUNITY, NO MATTER HOW SMALL?  THE SAME BALM IT WOULD BE TO YOU TO FINALLY SAY IT OUT LOUD AND ACCEPT YOURSELF FOR WHO YOU REALLY ARE.

“I’m not a freak.”

IF YOU SAY SO, ORACLE.

Silvio began to raise his hand, one finger pointed skyward as he drew in a breath to retort, but stopped halfway, squinting at his arm.

Over the course of his career as a tattoo artist, he’d managed to cover every inch of both arms in artwork.  While a lot of it was a crazy quilt of various images done by a variety of artists, his right forearm was covered from wrist to elbow with Alphonse Mucha, art nouveau-style flowers.  

Out of the corner of his eye…he thought he’d seen…but no.  That couldn’t be.

Standing perfectly still, breath held and heart fluttering, he waited; barely daring to blink.  And then it happened again – subtle, perhaps not even lasting a second, but undeniable.

A rose petal, inked in soft blue, stirring in an unseen breeze.

---

“I’m a popular guy lately.”

Silvio, seated on his usual high-backed chair at a dark wooden table, shuffles his deck of cards.  He’s dressed in a red button-down with the sleeves pushed up above his elbows, black jeans, and white Converse, facial piercings glinting in the light.  On the wall behind him, framed tattoo flash art depicts studies in juxtapositions.  An axe tangled up in delicately blooming rose vines, a vivid crimson heart pierced by a wicked silver dagger, a slumbering dove perched atop a skull.  

“My dance card just keeps filling up with these multi-partner matches!  But fear not, ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary babes – there is Oracle enough for everyone.”

Giving the camera a wink, Silvio leans forward and spreads the tarot cards across the table.  

“I’ll admit,” he says, leaning back and holding up his hands, “that when I saw the card for Chaos 96, my soul may have left my body.  But, once I wrangled that sucker back in, I visited my partner and we came to an agreement.  There won’t be tag-partner murder this time.  Not on our side of things, anyway.  I don’t know what Mitch and Jon might have in mind for themselves.”

He grins, drawing six cards toward himself.

“But I can make a good guess.  So, Mitch,” Silvio begins, tapping the first card.  “You made quite an impression in your debut match.  Seeing someone with that kind of capacity for violence across the ring from me is undeniably daunting.  I wonder how you’re feeling right now.”

Turning the card over reveals an image of a demonic creature crouched on a stone pillar, wings spreading over a pair of chained devils before it.

“You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?”  Shrugging, he continues.  “That makes sense.  Why would you throw yourself so violently at something if you thought you were worthy of preservation?  So, I’m going to be walking into a match with a man who feels he has nothing to lose as far as his body goes.  But is he putting something more important at risk?  Because…”

The next card that turns over shows an illustration of a woman swathed in blue silk, surrounded by wreathes of green leaves and holding a pair of staves.

“…you want a successful conclusion for your situation.  You have a purpose behind why you’re here.  I know everyone does, but yours is important enough to be represented here by The World.  Family, maybe?  Or someone you love?  Because you’re worried about…”

Turning the third card over reveals a woman kneeling at a river beneath a star-spangled sky.

“…the future.  Or their future.  You’re afraid this whole Carnage situation isn’t going to work out.  That’s fair.  Getting into this line of work is a pretty significant disruption.  But honestly?  That might work in your favor.”

Flipping over the next card shows a depiction of a tower being blasted apart by lightning.

“The Tower usually isn’t good news, but here, it’s something you’ve got going for you.  Something in your life needs upheaval.  Coming to fight here might cause some chaos, but ultimately it’ll be for the best.  Still gotta watch out for things tripping you up, though.”

The fifth card reveals an illustration of a stoic man in a starry crown directing a chariot pulled by a pair of black and white sphinxes.  

“Like your temper.  That’s going to be your Achilles’ heel, and not just in this match.  Last Chaos, you broke a beer bottle over the face of a guy who looks like he could punch a rhino and then make it apologize for getting in the way of his fist.  I’d say you let your feelings get the better of you there.  If you do that again here, things will go poorly.  Let’s see how all of this all plays out.”

Turning the last card, Silvio reveals an illustration of an angel on a riverbank with a cup in each hand.

“Temperance,” he snorts with a grin.  “So, things might look rocky and uncertain now, but if you can be mindful of your passion getting the better of you and ride this out, you’re going to reach an equilibrium; in the ring and other parts of your life.”

Scooping up the cards, the Oracle sets to shuffling again.

“I would, of course, be remiss not to address the other dog in this fight.  Jonathan Willis; former champion and three matches deep at Carnage. Fresh off your first loss dealt to you by my partner in this match.”

He lays the cards out in front of him and pulls six away from the lineup with one fingertip.  

“How does that make you feel?”

The first card that’s turned over shows a young man hung upside-down from a tree by his ankle.  

“A little out of sorts, looks like.  Since you debuted, you’ve been looking to reclaim your former glory, and you’ve been on a hot streak.  Your opponents haven’t been slouches in any sense of the word, either.  But, you hit a Zane King-shaped bump in the road.  So, what does a man in your position want in order to course correct?”

An illustration of a moon glowering at a pair of dogs barking on a river bank is revealed as the Oracle turns over the second card.

“Clarity.  You seemed to have things all figured out, but a loss throws a spanner in the works.  You’re going to have to step back and rethink things.  You’ve fought King already, so you have a little insight there.  But you haven’t fought me yet, Willis, and I’ve already defeated one former champ.  Maybe you’ll be number two.  Speaking of your similarities to Knox…”

Turning over the next card reveals a depiction of a Satanic creature presiding over two chained monsters.

“…I know you’ve got your own personal demons to deal with.  Sobriety isn’t easy, and I admire you for committing to it.  You might be feeling disappointed, and maybe you’re afraid of how you might try to cope with that; afraid of losing control.  But, you’ve got a lot going for you.”

The fourth card shows a woman suspended in the sky, surrounded by wreaths of greenery and clutching a pair of batons.

“The whole World, in fact.  You have past successes to buoy you – remind you of what you can accomplish.  And trust me – I won’t be discounting the experience you bring to this fight.  We’re a lot alike in our modus operandi – a very, ‘’scuse me while I kiss the sky,’ approach.  But you’re coming into this with a broken wing.  No one’s made me earthbound yet.”

Flipping the next card shows a picture of a woman robed in white, holding the jaws of a fearsome red lion.

“And I don’t think you’re going to be the one to ground me.  Not when Strength is what’s working against you.  You’re going to have to lean hard into your self-control if you want to have any success here.  This goes back to what I was saying about those personal demons – the sound of them scratching at the door with all their compromises, excuses, and exceptions.”  Silvio’s voice lowers into something silken, smooth and sweet as sugared smoke, as his dark eyes lift to meet the camera.  “They’re still there, Jon.  Are you tempted to let them in?  If they promise you that gold you want so badly, will you welcome them back?”

He holds the viewer’s gaze for a moment longer before leaning back and turning over the last card.  On it, a young man in red and white robes holds a scroll aloft, an infinity symbol floating above his head.  

“The Magician here tells me if you’ve got potential borne out of the self-discipline that’s brought you this far.  If you stay true to that, you’ll go far at Carnage, but that doesn’t mean it’ll give you the win at 96.  You know why?”

Gathering his cards back up, Silvio begins to shuffle.  “Because neither of you is there for your tag partner.  Mitch, you’re fighting for someone’s future.”  He shrugs, raising a brow and grinning.  “And because King pissed you off.  Jon, you’re fighting to prove you’re worthy of being a champion again.  Having your own motivations is important, but if you can’t mesh them with those of your partner’s, you’re not fighting as a team – you’re just two people fighting next to each other.”

Spreading out the cards one more time, Silvio sits back.

“That’s not the case for Zane and me.”  Meeting the viewer’s gaze again, Silvio continues.  “We’ve both been prey.  We’ve both been trapped and used against our wills for the benefit of other people.  And that is exactly why we are going to prevail here.  There is no predator as effective as one who has been prey.  Because having been prey, a predator will do anything to ensure they are never in that position again.  We’re both here for the spectacle – each of us for our own reasons – and we’ll do what’s necessary to elevate it to something unforgettable.”

Selecting one last card for himself, Silvio turns it over, and breaks out into a grin.

“Well, how about that?”

Holding up the card, he reveals an illustration of a child crowned in flowers astride a white horse, the sun smiling down upon the scene.

“Looks like we got a matching set, partner.  The Sun.  Joy, success, and fulfillment.”

Silvio winks and tucks the card back into the deck as the scene fades to black.

“See you at Chaos, folks.”

The High Priestess

Tattooing over scar tissue was always a tricky prospect.  You needed to be familiar with the scar, how it had healed, how it might continue to grow, and how it might take color.  Any work would have to be careful.  Especially so because the feeling of tattooing over scars was always more intense than blemish-free skin that had never had a story carved into it.  Silvio could sympathize with the desire, though.  What dearer wish could anyone have?  

Transform my trauma into art.  Make my suffering beautiful.  Make it all mean something.  Make it all worth it.

Make me someone new.

And he would certainly try.  Maybe for some he even succeeded.  But even when they walked out of the parlor marveling at the new colors that shone from those old wounds, he suspected his spell of transmutation was incomplete.  

He was reminded of this keenly when the tattooed scars on his own body ached with phantom pain.  Even years out from his unfortunate incident in that godforsaken suburb, certain things could remind him of spade-shaped knives and their sharp, red kisses.

“I fuckin’ hate cults.”

DO YOU THINK THE MANAGEMENT IS TRYING TO GET UNDER YOUR SKIN?

“I mean, not intentionally, but I’m kinda wondering if the universe is trying to make me deal with my shit at this point.”

First Knox, now this.  Scowling, he reached under his shirt to touch an aching scar; as if he could, ‘shoo,’ the pain away with a few brushes of his fingertips.  The fight with Knox had been good though – a double hit of catharsis and the side effects of Spooky’s witnesses.  He’d also come away with plenty of new lessons the veteran had been so kind to school him in during their match.  Ones that had left more than a few bruises.  While the cosmic entity he was connected to did make good on their promise to put Silvio back together after his fights, it didn’t mean the process was pleasant; just shorter.  

Still, the high had been even better than before.  Having people actually present made all the difference.  What’s mass without the congregation, after all?  And between blinks, the world around Silvio written in neon adulation, Knox had taken on the mien of a broken angel.  

AT LEAST THIS CULT DOESN’T SEEM TO BE CALLING ON ANYTHING LIKE US.  WE DO NOT LIKE SHARING.

“What is it with cults and you cosmic horrors, anyway?  Aren’t you supposed to be indifferent to humans?  We’re like insects or something to you, right?”

SORT OF.  THINK OF IT THIS WAY – IF A SNAIL PAINTED YOUR FACE ON ITS SHELL AND STARTED RECITING POETRY DEDICATED TO YOU WHILE ITS INSECT BUDDIES BURNED WEIRD SYMBOLS INTO YOUR LAWN, WOULDN’T YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT THE FUSS WAS ABOUT?

“Okay, yeah, when you put it that way.  But nobody’s doing that to you now, right?”

NOT PRESENTLY.  

“So what’s the deal?”

WELL, FOR ME, IT WAS MORE LIKE I WAS TAKING A ROAD TRIP AND SAW A, ‘FOOD, NEXT EXIT,’ SIGN.

“I’m like a Denny’s to you or something?”

OH, COME ON, DON’T SELL YOURSELF SHORT.  YOU’RE AN IHOP AT LEAST.  

“Wow, you really know how to sweet talk a guy.”  

DON’T ACT LIKE YOU’RE NOT ENJOYING OUR ARRANGEMENT NOW THAT YOU’RE ACTUALLY PUTTING THE EFFORT IN.  

Silvio’s lips pressed into a line, brow furrowed.  Knox had been a potent reminder of just what giving in to temptation could lead to, and considering his family history, he knew better than to poke the bear when it came to indulging in addictive substances.  All the same, what exactly was he supposed to do?  He’d never let the entity starve before, but when it got hungry, Silvio’s life got weirder.  His senses would scramble and he’d end up tasting his clothes through his skin or seeing music, his dreams would get truly bizarre, and he would wake up in places where he hadn’t fallen asleep, just to name a few examples.  The artist wasn’t willing to see how far things could go if he could help it.  And anyway…Silvio was having fun.

He hadn’t expected that, but it was true.  Having been a scrawny kid most of his life, he’d never thought he’d be capable of fighting like he did now; never thought he could defy gravity.  It had taken considerable time, effort, and resources, but he’d changed and was still changing.

That was just the physical aspect, though.  He liked the social one even more.

There were so many different people here all concentrated into one building.  All of them with personalities so big, he was surprised the walls could contain them.  And yet, they were so fragile.  He thought of his brief encounter in the gym with several of the other wrestlers.  Mitch, Amber, and Magdalena.  He’d watched them all fight – they were unquestionably formidable in the ring.  But up close, all the bravado, muscles, and trash talk looked a lot more like armor they’d built to keep a vulnerable, wounded part of themselves safe.  It was a lonely place to be, sequestered away in your fortress, and there was a part of him that felt compelled to try and reach them.  He briefly imagined himself knocking on the door of some impenetrable castle, plate of cookies in one hand, a bag of board games and tickets to a karaoke bar in the other.  

YOU CANNOT FIX EVERYTHING WITH COOKIES AND KARAOKE.

“Maybe not with that attitude.”

Getting to know these people, making connections with them, meant setting down roots; cementing himself even further into this new life.  It would make this all real.  If he did that, then it’d be even harder to write this all off and just go back to the west coast.  When he was alone, he still felt those pangs of longing for what he’d left behind.

Transformation, the shedding of one identity and construction of another, was rarely painless.

Make me someone new.

REMEMBER, THESE ARE PEOPLE YOU MAY HAVE TO FIGHT IN THE NEAR FUTURE.

That was true.  But that didn’t have to get in the way.

He smiled almost in spite of himself, thinking of his first foray into the ring and the card that linked him to his clever fox.

The High Priestess.  Intuition.

Taking his phone from his pocket, he tapped a contact and brought the device to his ear.

“Hey, Ko.  You wanna go get a bite to eat?”

---

The inside of Mi and Yu Noodle Bar was simple and classy, all dark brown tables and chairs and charcoal walls and counters, one wall doubling as a chalkboard and another with a bold mural of white and orange flowers. The savory scent of meat and broth wafted tantalizingly from the kitchen and the various steaming bowls on the tables, china clinking in a merry fashion and harmonizing with the susurrus of conversation.

At one particular table, there were two bowls, both filled with thick udon noodles, miso broth, and topped with large squares of fried tofu and a sprinkling of green onion. A plate of sweet dumplings, little white puffs with a molten egg custard center, rested in the middle, waiting for the pair of diners to finish their main courses.

The one on the left, a handsome, sly looking young man who was either thoughtless or ill mannered enough not to remove his hat at the table, tucked into their meal with no small amount of ravenousness, as if he were eating the most delicious food ever concocted. 

The one on the right, a dark-haired young man studded with piercings and covered in tattoos watched with an amused expression on his face.  “Jeez, Ko, do they feed you at home?”

Getting out like this was nice.  Silvio had spent the majority of his time ping-ponging between his parlor and the Carnage facilities.  He hadn’t really gotten a chance to get the city under his feet; to know it better.  Cities had their own personalities, quirks, and logic; their own rules.  Getting to explore this one with another newcomer was nice.

“I feed me quite well, actually. Used my first winner’s purse to stock my fridge and get some necessities for the new apartment. This is just my favorite and I just can’t make it myself as good as a professional. By Inari, I’d live off fried tofu if I could. I’d have a huge storehouse full of it and dive in every day and swim around in it like a cartoon duck. Dive to the bottom and eat my way back up.”

Lifting one of the squares up with a pair of chopsticks, Kohaku polished it off in short order, licking his lips.

“Next time you get to pick the place, though.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the vulpine fellow set the soup aside for a moment, steepling his fingers.

“But speaking of winning, I suppose we should talk shop a bit. Though it hardly feels like shop talk as much as I’m looking forward to it.”

Grinning, Silvio nodded, setting his chopsticks aside and leaning in.  “Dude, not gonna lie – I’ve been thinking about that triple threat since the end of Redemption.  I’m stoked that we get to do this properly.”  

Sitting back again, he raised a brow.  “So, the Wolf and the Judge.  One apparently a berserker and the other one a big, mean, Mother Hubbard.”

He reflected on the end of the match at the previous show that had involved The Family.  It had taken the interference of both Thor and Knox to put an end to the violence.

“They’re not here just to compete and earn gold or glory.  They’re bloodthirsty.  I get the feeling wrestling is the most socially acceptable way for them to indulge.”  Silvio’s mouth quirked briefly into a moue, feeling the beginnings of irritation prickle at the edges of his mood.  “Or they’re looking for a bigger platform for recruitment.”  He shrugged.  “Maybe both.”

“I can tell you don’t think much of them.”

Lifting a cup of steaming tea to his lips, Kohaku took a long, thoughtful sip.

“That’s unusual for you. I can tell you’re the sort of person who likes people in general. Which I understand, so am I. People are fascinating, and more often than not they’ll give you a reason to love them if you give them a chance. But, alas, some people really are just terrible.”

The cup was set down again, the porcelain making a soft thunk on the table, the sound of liquid sloshing a bit.

“Did you have any ideas on how to tackle this? It’s more your wheelhouse than mine, after all.”

Silvio froze, staring at Kohaku for a long moment, then offered a lopsided smile and picked up his own teacup.  

“My wheelhouse?” he laughed.  “Why do you say that?”

“Well, I’m just a simple fox, you know. As a mystifying oracle, you’d probably know more about spooky mystical stuff than me, after all.”

He blinked innocently, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“I see a mastermind, monster, muscle, and minx. I don’t know whether their cause is all an act to unnerve people and get the upper hand or whether they’re ‘true believers’. I know we don’t hear terribly much from them, and that, perhaps, is for the best. But I’d like to know if you see something I don’t.”

“They’re fuckin’ cultists,” Silvio said flatly.  “I just hate thinking about how that sort operates.  You get some self-righteous jack wagon who goes and finds people when they’re at their most vulnerable, then exploits them.  The people they prey on are looking for answers at some of the lowest points in their life, and all of a sudden someone shows up saying they can solve all their problems.  Usually by parting them with their money and separating them from their actual support network.  All the while, they’re pretending to be looking out for their best interests; manipulating them into thinking they’re family.  Whether or not they’re genuine doesn’t really matter.  We become who we pretend to be.”

Exhaling at length, he held up his hands, raising his brows.

“Sorry to go off like that – this kind of thing just really cheeses my biscuits.”

“No, don’t apologize. Speak your mind. I like that in a partner.”

Grinning, Kohaku picked up one of the buns, biting into it, closing his eyes as the sweetness of the golden egg custard filled his mouth, taking a moment to savor it before polishing off the rest of it.

“I think something to keep in mind is this- whatever their aim is, bless their dark little hearts, they just aren’t very good at it. Not that we shouldn’t be on our guard, but it makes the whole predatory concept a little easier to take when the message they seem to be sending out is ‘we’re all talk, all smoke and mirrors. We’re completely full of it so don’t waste your time joining our ranks unless you like getting trounced at every turn.’”

He gave that barking laugh of his, eyes twinkling in the ambient light.

“That sort of pitch wouldn’t get someone to sign up for a magazine subscription, much less devote their lives to a shadowy organization.”

Kohaku’s distinctive laughter was infectious, and Silvio found himself joining his partner in his mirth.  “That’s fair.”  He looked thoughtful, fingers drumming on the tabletop.  “Maybe given enough time, some sense could be knocked into the Father’s followers.”

Although he didn’t know any of them personally, and would be trading blows come the next show, Silvio rankled at the thought of these people being stuck in an exploitative situation.  If there was a way to help them – even if all he and Kohaku succeeded at doing was handing them another loss to demonstrate their Family wasn’t getting them results – he wanted to try.

BOY SCOUT.

Silvio resisted the urge to roll his eyes, plucking up his dessert bun and starting in on it.  

“Obviously, we’re going to be kicking their asses in a few days, but after that,” he said between bites, “maybe they just need other options.  Other people they can reach out to.  As to how we deal with them in the ring?  Well, the Wolf is a berserker.  But how long can he keep that up?”  Pinching off a bit of his sweet bun, he dropped it into his udon and stirred with one chopstick, circling the morsel of bread.  As he did, it became soggy and sank into the broth.  “Outmaneuvering him and letting him wear himself out could work.  The Judge is big, strong and not someone I want getting a hold of either of us.  If he does, don’t let him dictate when the motion between you ends.”  Picking up his second chopstick, he tried to pluck a bit of boiled egg from the broth.  Its slick surface caused it to slip out from between the two utensils to plop back into the soup.  “Use the momentum to turn his attacks against him.  Be slippery and keep moving.”

“Boy after my own heart.”

Giving another chuckle, Kohaku rested his chin in one hand, looking across the table in what one could correctly guess was a very fond manner.

“‘All the world will be your enemy, o Prince With A Thousand Enemies, and if they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you.’ I mean granted, that story was about rabbits, but the same principle applies. You can be the strongest, the scariest, have all the misguided conviction in the world, but you still aren’t going to be able to break something too fast and too clever for you to get your hands on. And I’m pretty sure that, between us, we have enough speed, agility, and outright dazzle to make short work of this problem.”

He plucked up the second of the four buns, tossing it up and down lightly.

“And perhaps you’re right. Any person who still has a lick of sense in their head will eventually determine that, after running into a brick wall enough times, there is no transmuting through it and their current path is pointless. At least, we can only hope.”

“To hope?  And putting our first tag team win in the books?” Silvio said, lifting his half-eaten dessert as if to toast his partner.

“To hope. And to, if I might be so bold…”

Kohaku had that twinkle in his eyes again as he tapped his uneaten bun against his partner’s.

“To Team StarFox.”

---

“’The trap is loneliness, and none of us escapes it.‘”

The scene opens on Silvio, seated on his carved chair with its plum upholstery, shuffling his tarot deck.  Instead of traditional tattoo flash, the framed art arrayed behind him depicts photos of portrait tattoos.  Children, men, women, couples, even some pets – all dear enough to commit permanently to skin.  Loved ones.  Family.

“Nobody can get through life alone.  Sooner or later, you have to have somebody there who’s got your back.  Some folks are lucky and they have that right from the start.  The rest of us have to find our own families.”

He spreads the cards before him on the table with one hand.  

“Now, it seems like the Family of Carnage is a little of both.  How you all found each other, though, isn’t as important as your reasons for sticking together.  Maybe it’s for recruitment, maybe it’s to satisfy some bloody impulse.  But I get the feeling whatever reason you say you have, it can be pared down to one straightforward statement.”

He looks up at the camera.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Silvio pulls six cards from the array, then sits back.

“I understand.  Human connection is a powerful thing.  Case in point – I hop into my first match and find out I’m Drift Compatible with Kohaku Fujihara.  How cool is that?”  He grins broadly.  “I won’t lie – all that flirtation at Redemption has me pretty excited for this dance, Mr. Fox.  Let’s see what steps our partners are going to be cutting a rug with.”

Flipping over the first card, Silvio reveals a woman robed in white and wreathed in flowers holding the jaws of a lion.

“So, it looks like our Wolf and Judge are feeling strong right now.  I can’t blame you guys – the end of Chaos 94 definitely showed you can hold your own.  It took some pretty significant interference from some admittedly unexpected places to get you to stop your little rampage.  You’re probably feeling good about your prospects against Ko and me.  Let’s see what you want out of all this.”

The next card is turned over to show an illustration of a man in a crown seated upon a throne, scepter in hand and stern expression on his face.

“The Emperor.  No shock there.  The card in this position is you seeking the approval of a male authority figure.  Your whole operation is centered around pleasing your Father and carrying out his orders.  If he’s focused on winning here at Carnage, I’m going to hazard a guess that you may not be in his good graces right now.  Is our fight a chance to make up for failure in his eyes?  Because it seems like you’re afraid…”

Turning over the third card shows a demonic figure crouched on a stone plinth, bat-like wings spread above a pair of demons in chains.

“…that this might be out of control.  Your violence might have continued beyond the bell being rung, but you still lost your debut match.  Not exactly an auspicious beginning if you want to convince people of your group’s strength and authority.  But…”

The fourth card reveals an illustration of a man robed in white and red, holding a scroll aloft.

“…you still do have that mastermind working in your favor.  Father Luke is apparently smart and charismatic enough to have three people doing his bidding without question.  I don’t doubt he has strategies and ideas that are going to work in your favor.  You wouldn’t be with him or at Carnage if you hadn’t found some modicum of success under his orders.  And trust me – neither Ko nor I are going to take that lightly.”

The penultimate card turns over to show a man in red leggings and a blue tunic hanging upside-down by one foot that’s tied to a tree bough.

“The Hanged Man.  This is what’s going against you.”

Silvio lifts the card and taps its edge against the surface of the table as if to emphasize his words as he looks directly into the camera again.

“You’re being victimized.  Manipulated.  Even if you do win this match or any others in the future, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re under someone else’s thumb.  They’re doing your thinking for you, dictating terms to you, and any victory you have?  Guess who’s going to take credit for it.  And if you lose?  Guess who’s going to take the blame.  Something’s gotta give, one way or another.  And frankly, the sooner you start living your lives for yourselves, the better off you’ll be.  Maybe the idea of being alone is terrifying, but I think you’ll be surprised at the people around you.  There are always other options if you’re willing to take them.”

Setting the Hanged Man aside, he turns over the final card.  It shows a pair of hounds on a riverbank, howling at a moon that glowers down at them.

“Here’s how this whole fight is going to turn out for you.  The Moon.  In this position, it’s a bit of a double-edged sword.  On the one hand, it doesn’t bode well for you winning.  Confusion, fear, anxiety – those are things The Moon stands for.  I think maybe that debut loss has you all a little shook up.  If you’re looking for this to be the match to make up for it, you’re going to come away disappointed.  This isn’t where you make your mark.  On the other hand, just like the moon going through its phases, this gives you the opportunity to change; to end one thing and open your mind to new possibilities.  I sincerely hope that you do.”

Gathering the cards back into his hands with one smooth motion, Silvio begins to shuffle them again.

“And that brings us to Team StarFox.  How’s our first foray gonna go?”

Silvio spreads the cards on the table, draws one and takes a look.  His brows shoot up and he breaks into a smile that blossoms into helpless laughter, shaking his head.

“Oh, Mr. Fox, oh!” he gasps, turning the card between his index and middle fingers to show the camera.  There’s a man and a woman standing in front of a pair of trees, an angel framed by the sun above them spreading its wings and arms with a serene expression.  “The Lovers!  Good fortune with a partner, ease of communication and pleasure in joint endeavors.”  

Still chuckling, he winks and gives the card a kiss before flicking it at the camera as the scene fades to black.

“See you at Chaos, lover boy.”

The Magician

YOU LIKED IT.

Silvio rolled a colored pencil between two fingers, contemplating a tattoo design.  It was for his first client in Baltimore.  She was gorgeous.

YOU CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.

 Her name was Nina.  Tall, generous figure, chestnut hair and sharp, green eyes.  Russian accent, too.

 YOU CAN’T IGNORE US, SILVIO LEON.

He’d designed a heart-shaped bottle for her, dripping with blood and topped with a pristine, white rose.  It was perfect for her skin tone.

 WE KNOW YOU CAN HEAR US.

 He still needed to get together an aftercare package for her.  Had to remember to do that before her appointment.

 WE WILL START SINGING THE SONG ABOUT THE BABY SHARK AGAIN.

 “Oh, fuck’s sake!  Yeah!  Yes!  It was incredible!  You happy?”

 Getting to his feet with a huff, Silvio set his art supplies aside, beginning to pace in a tight circle. 

 “I never thought it would feel like that.”

 YOU NEVER BOTHERED TO TRY BEFORE, MORTAL.  IT COULD HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THIS WAY.

 “You made your point!  I provide you the witnesses and the crazy juice or whatever, and I get a sweet kick-back.” 

 Well, that was one way of putting it.  A sterilized, flavorless, artless way of putting it.  Stopping in his tracks, Silvio’s eyelids slid slowly shut, breath quavering as he licked his lips. 

 It started shortly after he’d posted the recording of the tarot reading.  In retrospect, he supposed that meant people had begun to watch it.  It was subtle at first – colors seemed brighter, music more moving, sleep more restful.  Silvio just felt better.  If things had stayed that way, he might have been able to reason his way around the truth.  He was working out and eating clean, he was in a brand new town with a new adventure ahead of him.  That would energize anyone.  These feelings weren’t necessarily related to the cosmic nightmare that had a direct line to his brain. 

 Redemption quickly divested Silvio of any plausible deniability, though.

 The moment he walked into the line of the camera, he was Dorothy stepping into Oz – sepia tone life on the farm blossoming into technicolor fantasy. Every nerve flared to life like a thousand match heads igniting at once.  He just felt more aware – of himself, of his surroundings, of his opponents.  It was like all the lies artists told in the service of truth finally succeeded in lifting the veil from its eyes and Silvio could meet its gaze unblinking.  He was a priest in the temple of a collective, consensual insanity.  From there, it was all electric rapture coursing through his veins.  And the best part?  He could share it.

 There’s something special about you.

 Did Fujihara know?  No one had ever given any indication that they could detect Big Boss Spookitude before, but the way Kohaku spoke about Silvio made all the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  Still, it could have been a cold reading.  Analyze someone’s clothing, manner of speech, and whatever other clues they gave you, then make a few Barnum statements so the other party could fill in the blanks.  Use tidbits of information to bait for bigger fish, so to speak.  People were so eager to be known without the work and vulnerability that went into the process of knowing.  You could have a person convinced you were speaking to the ghost of their long dead relative when in reality, they’d done most of the work convincing themselves.  Or, in Kohaku’s case, convince your opponent that you knew he had some Lovecraftian monster on tap.

 He’s trying to play you with tools from your kit.  You’re not a sucker – don’t let him psyche you out.

 Yet another thing Redemption corrected him on.

 He didn’t know what exactly to expect.  When he’d been learning how to use a tattoo machine, he’d practiced on banana peels, oranges, and even pig’s skin, but knew none of it would be like working with a real human being.  Same principal – a thousand practice matches wouldn’t be the same as stepping into a live environment.  But, Christ, he hadn’t anticipated just how sharp that difference was.  Whatever else the entity might have told him, it wasn’t lying about the ecstatic cascades of sensation that came as a byproduct of its mad feast.  At first, that had been enough – as long as he was here, he was going to do his best to have a good time.  If the fox wanted to play, Silvio was game.  Watching a promo, however, and being in the same vicinity as Fujihara was the difference between holding a candle and standing next to a house fire.  He’d been right – there was something special – it just didn’t apply to Silvio alone.

 Slumping into his tattoo chair, he let his arms hang over the sides and flexed his fingers, gazing into the middle distance. 

 YOU LIKED HIM, TOO.

 “Don’t get it twisted.”

 ‘Liked,’ was the wrong word for it.  His debut at Redemption had been billed as a triple-threat, but it felt more like a handicap match.  Whatever thread of shared intrigue connected the two of them came alive when the bell rang.  There were moments when it was less like they were two separate fighters and more like extensions of each other.  Silvio’s own words from his tarot reading echoed back to him – specifically about what the fox had going in his favor.

The High Priestess.  Intuition is going to serve you well here. 

Maybe it wasn’t just Kohaku that card was addressing. They’d been caught together by the irresistible current of mutual instinct inside the ring.  It was fun.  It was exhilarating.  It was nice to connect to someone.  He couldn’t set aside or forget that.

 It’s a pity there’s a third partner in this dance, almost. I’d like to get you alone to get to know you better.

 YOU LIKED HIS SMILE AND FANCY HAIR.

 “…Stupid sexy fox boy.”

Rumination was interrupted by an alert from Silvio’s phone with the card for the upcoming show.  Eagerness prickled at the edges of his senses.  Although Silvio had been buzzing since his last match ended, it didn’t compare to the white-hot, otherworldly perfection that set his soul alight when he was in the ring.  Any other time he might have paused to reflect on that, but as he caught sight of his new match, his thoughts came stuttering to a halt.

“Aw, fuck.”

---

“He doesn’t have money for a cab, Silvio.  You’re going to have to come get him.”

“Come on – I don’t have money for a cab, either, and the buses aren’t running anymore.  He’s got the only car for our house.  I can’t go knocking on doors at 2AM asking to borrow from the neighbors.”

“Guess you’re walking, then.”

“Come on, Allen!”

“I just serve patrons, kid – I don’t bring ‘em home if they get too soused.  I’m not spotting him this time – he’s already got a tab as long as my arm.  I’ll stick around with him for a while – I got clean-up to finish.  You should consider it a favor I’m even doing that.  I like Jerry.  I don’t want him doing something stupid and giving the cops any excuses.  He’s already got two DUIs.”

“Notice that doesn’t stop you serving him.”

“Hey, they didn’t happen on my watch.  I got his keys.  You can drive a stick, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Does the truck still have the breathalyzer thing in it?  

“It won’t be a problem.  I don’t drink.”

“Hope not, kiddo.  You got half an hour.”

“Thanks.”

Silvio dropped the phone back into its cradle, returned to his room, and got dressed.  Pulling on a fleece-lined denim jacket and work boots held together with electrical tape, he grabbed his set of house keys before starting off into the night.  Lake City Way was sketchy at best, and walking around it at this time of night could get you in trouble.  Just keep your head down, continue walking, and don’t look like you’re lost.  Be brisk, but don’t run.  Eyes on the pavement until the grimy bath of sodium yellow light changes to the gritty intensity of beer logos flashing neon into the night, reflecting off the pock-marked blue finish of the last pick-up in a tavern parking lot.

Breathless and with cold sweat filming his skin, Silvio rapped his knuckles on the tavern’s heavy, wooden door.  The musty smell of the bar’s interior mingled unpleasantly with the lingering stench of cigarette smoke that hung about the entrance as the door swung open.  A middle-aged man with a valiantly retreating hairline and icy grey eyes filled the frame.

“Hey, Allen.  Can he walk?” Silvio asked, holding his hand out.

“He’s unsteady, but yeah,” the bartender replied, giving him a set of keys.  “You’re a good kid, Sil.”

“I just wanna get home.”

Stepping into the bar, he fought back the barb of resentment that pricked at him as he came to the side of the dark-haired man slumped in a nearby booth.  Giving the drunk’s shoulder a firm shake, Silvio’s stomach churned with a familiar disgust.

“Let’s go, dad.  I got class tomorrow.”

---

Just get this over with.  Get it done and move on with your day.  Then you’ll be one step closer to getting in the ring again and putting all of this out of your mind.

Silvio paced behind the table where he’d previously done his tarot readings.  His mouth was twisted in distaste, brow furrowed, hands distractedly shuffling and cutting the deck of cards.

You’re making this personal.  It’s not.  That stunt with his family was bullshit, anyway.  It was designed specifically to get this reaction you’re having right now.  You know better.  Now, start talking.  You’re supposed to be cutting a promo.

Exhaling shakily, Silvio took a seat, spreading the deck across the table in a terse motion.

“So.  Knox, huh?  Matt fuckin’ Knox.  Alright.”

Reaching out, he started to draw the cards across the table toward him.

“We’re both pretty new to this outfit, but, damn, I feel like I already know you.”

Cool your jets, sparky.  You’re coming in a little hot there.

“Did some research.  Wasn’t sure how true it all was, but, hey!  Nothing that little family reunion didn’t end up confirming.”

You’re being stupid and angry and making it personal.  It isn’t.

“Weren’t they important enough for you?  Weren’t they worth getting your act together for?”

Chill out.  This is professional.  Get it under control.

With a bone-jarring crash, Silvio’s hand slammed onto the tabletop, cards scattering.  Dark eyes alight, brows knit, mouth twisted into a sneer, his words dripped like venom.

“Why did you leave?”

Posture wilting, Silvio got up, running a hand through his hair.  

“Goddamnit.”

He reached out to the recording device, muttering as he deleted the video.

“I need Medicine.”

---

“Don’t you get tired of being a stereotype?”

Silvio rubbed at the mouthpiece of the ignition interlock device installed in the truck with the hem of his shirt before bringing it to his mouth and breathing into it.  It kept the truck from starting if the driver’s breath-alcohol concentration was too high.  Allen taking dad’s keys away from him was still a good idea, though.  The guy could get creative when he wanted to, and if he’d ventured off into the night in this state, God only knew what his son would have had to deal with in the morning.  

“We get enough shit as it is.”

The man seated beside Silvio fixed his son with a sidelong look and a crooked smile.

“That reminds me of a story.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Silvio muttered, starting the truck and pulling out of the parking lot.

“This Indian goes to the general store and says he needs toilet paper.  The clerk says, ‘We got this three-ply roll called, ‘Fluffy Clouds,’ for two dollars a package.’  The Indian says, ‘Too expensive.  What else you got?’  Clerk says, ‘There’s this two-ply roll we got called, ‘Quilted Softness,’ for a dollar a package.  ‘Too expensive,’ says the Indian.  ‘Well,’ says the clerk, ‘there’s a one-ply roll for fifty cents a package, but it doesn’t have a name.’  ‘Perfect,’ says the Indian.  He pays, takes his toilet paper, and walks out.  The next day, the Indian’s back, and he tells the clerk, ‘I don’t like your John Wayne toilet paper.’  ‘John Wayne toilet paper?’ says the clerk.  The Indian says, ‘Yeah.  It’s rough, white, and don’t take no shit off the Indians.’”

As his father laughed at his own joke, Silvio rolled his eyes.

“I have a history test in the morning.  I shouldn’t be out here picking you up from the bar in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t worry.  Maybe y’make a few mistakes.  So what?  Mistakes can be good.  You’re my favorite mistake.  Few years from now, no one’s gonna remember what grade you got on a stupid test.”

“College admissions will,” Silvio retorted.

“College?  You know I can’t give you any money, and your blood quantum’s not high enough for scholarships.  Just get a regular job.  What, you’re too good for an apron and a name tag?”

Silvio’s grip flexed on the steering wheel as he reached down to pick up the IID for a rolling retest.  While he breathed into the device, his father filled the silence.

“B’sides, you’re just learnin’ European stuff in that AP course.  Three-quarters of you sittin’ there learnin’ all the history about one-quarter of you like it’s the only part that matters.  Do they even tell you about South America?”

“Why do people like you?” Silvio spat, the pull of exhaustion worsening his irritation.  “Allen cut you a break tonight, calling me and sticking around, because he likes you.”  He dropped the IID and let it swing from its cables.  “I don’t get it.  All you do is mess up, but people keep forgiving you.  Why?”

“I’m a magician,” crooned Silvio’s father, waggling his fingers mysteriously.

“Oh, shut-up,” Silvio growled, pulling into their house’s driveway, setting the truck into park and unbuckling his seatbelt.  

“I got all kinds of tricks up my sleeves, Sil.  As many second chances as I need.  You’re too uptight; full a’ yourself.  You don’t know how to work with people.  Climb off your high horse an’ walk among us peasants, maybe you’ll learn some magic, too.”

At that, Silvio snapped around, eyes burning.  Wrenching the keys from the ignition, he threw them at his father and shoved the door open.  “You’re a magician?  Then fucking disappear!”

Slamming the truck door behind him, Silvio left his father still buckled into his seat and stalked back to the entrance of his house.  

---

Silvio ran his fingers down the surface of the canvas he’d prepped, the gesso no longer tacky.  That stuff always took forever to dry, but the canvas space was considerable – the frame a little taller than he was and as wide as the span of his arms.  Kneeling amid an array of paint buckets, he picked up a brush and dipped it in black.  

He exhaled slowly as he rotated his arm, a circular outline filling the canvas.  After that, he painted an, ‘x,’ shape across it, dividing it into four sections.  Narrowing his eyes, he considered the selection of paints at his feet.  

WHAT IS THIS?

“Medicine Wheel,” Silvio said.  “Gotta find the right colors.”

Red, White, Yellow, Black – that was traditional.

But what colors did he need?  

Looking up, he shook his head and let out a rueful laugh.

One quarter white?  That was right.  How about the other three?

Sodium light yellow.  Silvio didn’t bother with a brush.  Picking up an open paint can, he gave it a light swing, yellow colliding against the canvas with a heavy, wet splat.  He watched with approval as rivulets slid down to mingle with the black and transgress the wheel’s borders, pulse rising as he reached down for a can of grey.

He knew that color – eyes on the pavement. Winding up harder, he threw the contents of the can at another wedge of the wheel.  The canvas rocked with paint’s impact, Silvio catching some of the splashback as he knelt and grabbed a container of pick-up truck blue.  

He hurled the can at the canvas.  It made a sharp, azure slash across the wheel, struck its quarter and then tumbled to the floor.  

Breath ragged, eyes stinging and chest tight, Silvio looked at his work and found it wanting.

You’re my favorite mistake.

“No.”

Inspiration came in a painful throb of his heart that pulsed loud in his ears.  Gaze drifting to the can of red, he knelt to sink one hand into the paint.

“I’m your correction.”

Drawing it back out again, claret drops pattered gently to the tattoo parlor floor. 

“Hey, Spooky.  Ever seen a human heart before?”

WHY DO YOU ASK? 

“I heard…”

Getting to his feet, fingers curling inward, he regarded his dripping, crimson fist before cocking it back and looking at the center of the canvas.

“…that it looks like a fist wrapped in blood.”

---

“In the stories I read growing up, Raven was a trickster.”

Silvio sits cross-legged on the floor of his tattoo parlor, a large painting propped up behind him.  A Medicine Wheel is depicted, its quarters haphazardly colored white, yellow, blue, and grey.  Spatters of red radiate out into each wedge from the Wheel’s center, the canvas sagging a bit from where a hole looks to have been punched or cut raggedly into the fabric.  Silvio shuffles his deck of tarot cards, expression thoughtful.

“I never understood the raven being some sinister creature.  They’re goofballs in nature.  And the raven I knew from my childhood stories gave us the sun and the tides and pulled humanity out into the world; black wings and a silver tongue.”

He spreads the cards out on the floor in front of him.

“I have to wonder which way you lean – Poe or Tlingit?  Are you some broken warrior king returning to your domain to show you’re still worthy to wear a crown?  Or is that just a mask you’re wearing to fool everyone; yourself included?”

Six cards are drawn toward him.

“Let’s see.  How are you feeling?”

The first card shows a woman kneeling at a riverbank, the sky above her alive with stars.

“Not surprising.  The Star’s about inspiration, hope, and renewal.  Something stirred up those ashes, and now you’re finding out if there’s still an ember left to restart the fire.  Now, let’s see what you want.”

The next card depicts a serene woman robed in white, gripping the jaws of a lion.

“Strength.  Obviously, you want the strength to win this match, but I get the feeling it goes beyond just that.  From what I’ve read, your personal demons have caused some serious problems for you in the past.  I’m guessing they’re still following just a few steps behind, ready to catch you if you stumble.  You want the willpower to overcome them.  With the card in this position, if you want that to work out, your strength is going to have to come from a place of tolerance and love.  To me, that says engaging in some forgiveness.  And if that means forgiving yourself?  I genuinely wish you luck.  Let’s explore what you fear getting in your way.”

Another card is flipped, revealing a man and a woman standing in a garden, an angel floating above them framed with a sunburst.

“The Lovers.  Not exactly a shock considering that stunt Thor pulled, but I don’t think this is referring to Astryd Thorn.  You said that wasn’t in the cards for you two anymore.  If that’s true, there’s another love causing you turmoil.  Enough that it might get in the way of your goals and maybe thwart any effort to gain strength through self-forgiveness.  So, let’s see what your saving grace is going to be.”

The fourth card shows an illustration depicting a Hellish creature perched on a stone plinth, bat-like wings spread menacingly above a pair of demons in chains.

“The Devil.  Interesting.  This card deals with things like addiction and temptation.  Like I said – I know you’ve had some demons dogging your steps.  But right now, you seem to have a better handle on them.”  Shrugging, he offers the camera a grin.  “Either that or you have some seriously good shit in which case, dude, hit me up.

“Any efforts you’ve been exerting to rein in your temptations or bad habits are going to serve you well for this match.  That’s good for you because…”

Turning the next card over reveals a pair of hounds standing on a riverbank, howling at a glowering moon.

“…You lost at Redemption.  Getting back into wrestling couldn’t have been easy.  All that work and build-up; saying losing wasn’t an option for you.  But when the match ended, another former champ walked away with the win.  Is Willis the one living the story you wanted to write for yourself?  Maybe you thought you were cast as the lead but you’re really just someone else’s understudy.  So, how’s all of this going to shake out?”

The last card shows an illustration of a man seated on a throne, a sword in one hand and a scale in the other.  Raising his brows, Silvio sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Justice.  Well, Knox, it looks like you’re going to get what you deserve.  Whether or not that means you’re going to win this match remains to be seen – I’m not going to make it easy for you.  But whatever you’ve been sowing – good, bad or otherwise?  It’s all going to come back to you.  And if even a fraction of what I’ve read about you is true?  Well… have you ever heard the curse, ‘May you live in interesting times’?  Because, Matt, I think life’s about to get downright fascinating for you.”

Sweeping the cards back into his hands, he starts to shuffle again.

“What about your Mystifying Oracle?  Redemption was fun.  Now, I won’t pretend to be Super King Big Nuts – I’m still new to all of this and I’d be stupid to let that win go to my head.  As important as it is for me to know what I’m capable of and how to use it to my advantage here, it’s just as important to know what my opponent is capable of and be able to anticipate it. In any sport, dominant patterns emerge and you get used to anticipating them successfully – experience beats luck and raw talent on a long enough timeline.  With somebody like Knox whose experience definitely outstrips mine, what’s a high-flying, punk ass tattoo artist new to the sport gonna do?”

Silvio looks to the camera, giving an exaggerated shrug and a lopsided grin.

“Be a high-flying, punk ass tattoo artist new to the sport, of course.  When you’re used to anticipating and responding to dominant patterns, you can get tripped up by anything different.  How do I win?  By leaning into what makes me unique to the roster.  By coming at him at a totally different angle.  My perspective is what’s valuable here, and I’m gonna hazard a guess and say you’ve never been on the receiving end of one quite like it, Knox.  So, how’s that going to work out for me?”

He draws a card from the top of the deck, and for a moment, Silvio’s expression falters.

“The Son…”

Blinking, his brow furrows and he looks sheepish, shaking his head.

“Sorry, I mean, The Sun.”

Turning the card, he reveals an illustration of the sun beaming down on a flower-crowned child.

“Success, joy, and happiness.”