Year One Vet
“I’m too young to feel this old.”
YOU JUST SLEPT ON YOUR SHOULDER WRONG.
“Nah, it’s not that. Although I will say it’s freakin’ annoying you can’t fix it.”
SOME THINGS ARE BEYOND EVEN MY ABOMINABLE MIRACLES.
“I’m just not used to people like…looking to me for guidance. I’ve only been doing this for a year; I’m not a vet or anything.”
YOU STILL HAVE ONE YEAR MORE THAN SOME OF THE OTHERS HERE.
“Fair enough.”
Silvio Leon paced down the backstage hallways of the Colosseum, footsteps echoing off the clinical white walls and tile floor as he made his way toward the medical care wing. He ground an empty honey straw from the Market between his teeth, trying to derive from it whatever scant comfort sugar could offer, heartbeat beginning to pick up as he continued.
YOU WANT TO BE A CHAMPION, RIGHT?
“Goal numero uno. And I know that means I’ve gotta get used to people thinking of me like that.”
As a person to be relied upon. As someone who could lead and set an example. He already felt protective of the roster and Ascended itself. Any one of the Gladiators was deserving of gold, in his opinion. Even Logan had a kind of charm you couldn’t help but get behind. Silvio knew what he wanted and how to get it. He was matched against the Adorable Death Captain for his second Ascended fight. While circumstances prevented ADC from participating in the previous Collision, it didn’t change the fact the guy was a beloved veteran. It was easy to see how his vacillations between the insane and adorable in the ring could make for exciting, unpredictable bouts that were a blast to watch. Getting a win over someone with that much experience under their belt would be a boon; a way to prove Silvio was equal to his ambitions.
There was just that one thing that nibbled with tiny, persistent teeth at the edges of his mind.
Ah! So the fabled hero has come to save a worthless peon!
The Oracle’s mouth twisted in thought, eyes narrowing.
Tend to the peon Leon, I’ll wait my turn. After all, we all know how you love a good underdog story.
Who was that guy? And what was his problem? To the tattoo artist’s knowledge, they’d never met before, and he had no idea what he might have done to piss him off.
Was it someone who was angry with him for something he’d done in Silvio’s previous promotion? Someone who’s S.O. he’d unknowingly flirted with? Had he fucked up somebody’s tattoo and now they were out for blood? If it was a matter of a cover-up, it wasn’t like he was any stranger to that. He tried, not for the first time, in vain to conjure an accurate figure for the number of penises (Peni? What was the grammatically accurate plural?) he’d had to make disappear into elaborate cover-up designs when better judgment, regret, and sobriety caught up with prom goers, bachelorette parties, and bet-losing dude bros.
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
Blinking out of his reverie, Silvio stared at the double doors of his destination before him, grimacing and spitting his empty honey straw into a nearby waste bin.
“…Nothing.”
OH. ARE YOU NERVOUS ABOUT TALKING WITH ERNEST AGAIN?
“What? No! Why would…why would I be?”
GOODNESS, WE CANNOT IMAGINE A REASON.
“Ernest is a great guy.”
UH-HUH.
“I’m sure him being here is all a coincidence.”
OH, SURE.
“And anyway, what are the chances Snow, Dorian and Sam even remember me? It’s been…jeez, more than five years now?”
SOMETHING TELLS US THAT PEOPLE IN THEIR LINE OF WORK HAVE LONG MEMORIES.
The sound that issued from the Oracle’s throat would not have been inappropriate coming out of the throat of a puppy being denied a biscuit.
BESIDES, EVERY NOW AND THEN YOU SPEND TIME REMINISCING ABOUT THAT THING DORIAN DID WITH HIS TONGUE THAT YOU LIKED SO MU–
“It was one time!”
“What was one time?”
Silvio whipped around, inwardly chiding himself for not hearing anyone approaching. The man standing in the hallway behind him with a drink holder bearing two to-go coffee cups and dressed in black nurse’s scrubs with the Ascended logo embroidered on the left breast appeared to be around the Oracle’s age. Beneath his mop of curly black hair were curious dark eyes, glasses with boldly colored plastic rims, and a puzzled but not unfriendly smile.
“Oh! Hey there! Um, Dante, right? Dante Hill?”
Brightening, the young man nodded.
“That’s right! I’m the nurse here. Are you coming to the infirmary because of an injury? Don’t worry, friend, we’ll get you fixed right up!”
Silvio blinked owlishly at Dante, a little taken aback by his demeanor.
“You work with Ernest?” he queried, trying to keep the note of incredulity out of his tone. The idea of this ray of sunshine working alongside the only man Silvio knew capable of making lemons out of the lemonade was causing more than a little cognitive dissonance.
“Yep! I was actually just going on a Starbucks run for us. You know, I can’t say I personally care for his usual–”
“A Shot in the Dark, right?”
As bitter as the tailor’s soul and almost as dark, as Ernest himself would describe the drink.
“Yeah!” Dante chirped. “Although he calls it a Red Eye. But, gosh, I have to admire a guy who can appreciate coffee as coffee. I’m sitting over here with my hazelnut latte and there he is drinking dark roast with a double shot of espresso! I guess he must’ve gotten used to it while working late nights doing his residency. And, hey, please excuse my manners – if I knew you were coming, I would’ve gotten you something!”
“I appreciate the thought, man,” Silvio replied with a smile. “I’m not injured – just here to chat with Ernest for a bit.”
“Gotcha!” Beaming, Dante maneuvered around Silvio and pushed open the double doors for them. “I’m sure he’d be happy to make some time for you!”
As the pair stepped into the infirmary beyond, Dante cleared his throat.
“Hey, big guy! I got us some coffees and you have a visitor!” he called.
At the back of the room, seated at a heavy oak desk burdened with patient records,was one Ernest Conagher–the resident expert on stitches, both tailored and surgical. At the sound of Dante’s sunny greeting, he lifted his head, removing his reading glasses. He tucked them into the breast pocket of his grey twill waistcoat as he stood up, grunting a bit as his knees protested the change.
“Visitor?” The older man trudged across the infirmary to take his coffee with a subtle nod of gratitude, before turning his attention to Dante’s company. His brow knit a bit, as though he expected bad news, taking a sip from the coffee cup in his scarred hand before speaking again.
“Leon. You break something? How’s your big friend?”
Dante gave a little wave before moving to another part of the room to attend to other things and give the pair a bit of privacy.
“I’m fine,” Silvio assured Ernest, “and Kane’s doing alright. He hasn’t had any major health problems since coming out here to Seattle. At least none I’m aware of. Actually came here for a couple other reasons. First of all, it’s good to see you, man! I take it Afsah funded the rest of your schooling?”
“Actually, he didn’t seem to give a shit that I never finished my MD,” Ernest replied, starting back toward his desk and waving for Silvio to follow. “Something about practical experience being more valuable, understanding how life gets in the way, blah blah. It’s a good job, and I prefer working for people who ask fewer questions, anyhow.”
“Actually that’s one of the things I wanted to maybe talk with you about. But, uh, before that I was curious – have you treated the Insensate? I know HIPAA’s a thing and all, but…I was just wondering if you might have seen the guy’s face or know what his real name is?”
With a creased frown, Ernest shook his head.
“That guy might as well be a ghost to me, kid. He won’t let me touch him post-match, and always seems to cheese it early, so he must be getting patched up somewhere else.”
Nodding, Silvio sighed. “Sort of what I guessed, but it never hurts to ask. He’s pissed at me about something, but I’ve got no idea what it is and I can’t get in touch with him outside of the shows. Even then, he’s not keen on discussion. I wish I could talk with him about it, but I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.”
“You just wanna sort everything out with a friendly chat every chance you get,” the medic commented, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned to lean on his desk, sipping his coffee before continuing. “Sounds like you’re gonna have to work on his terms for now. If he’s got a genuine beef with you, he’ll sort it out in the ring sooner or later… and I guess I’ll tape you back up after that.”
“Well you know my M.O. – talk at people until they’re confused or see things from my point of view,” Silvio said with a wan smile. “Which…ah…brings me to my next question.”
There it was, Ernest thought. The bad feeling from earlier.
“Out with it then, kid.”
Silvio bit his lower lip, as if not asking would somehow solve the problem.
“…It’s great to see you, like I said. And I’m especially happy to see you gainfully employed somewhere doing what you studied to do. But…considering our shared background…it’s just a coincidence that you’re here where I’m working now…right?”
There was a beat of silence just a little too long to be comfortable. Ernest paused with his coffee cup over his mouth, giving Silvio a stern look. You know better.
Heart executing a swan dive into his stomach, Silvio sank into the chair in front of Ernest’s desk, looking like he was attempting to disappear into the upholstery.
“…Yeah.” Fingers curling into the arm rests, he felt his insides roiling. “That’s kinda what I figured…” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair and growled lowly. “Fuck. I take it you talked to those guys fairly recently?”
Ernest sighed through his nose, moving around his desk to take a seat. He dropped into the chair with a grunt, gesturing for Silvio to come closer as he spoke in a casual but considerably lower tone.
“Recently. They asked me to come out this way to keep a passive eye on you. Can’t honestly say I know what they’re up to, but…”
“It doesn’t matter. It won’t be good news.” The younger man made a face, speaking in a terse, muted tone. “I keep trying to move ahead to a new future, but the past keeps dragging me backward.”
Ernest grimaced slightly, resting his elbow on the desk. “You never really shake them, kid. Nature of the beast. But you’re smart–and you’re not alone this time. It ain’t gonna be a cakewalk, but you’re way more motivated than the scrawny lockpick I knew years ago.”
Nodding numbly, gaze focused resolutely on Ernest’s desktop Silvio said, “Yeah. I was in a weird place, but…things have changed. I want to be able to change with them.” Snorting derisively, he lifted his eyes to meet the tailor’s. “You know, I get people telling me I’m smart all the time, but I sure as Hell don’t feel it, considering all the stupid shit I’ve gotten myself into.”
“…If you ask me,” Ernest said after a pause, moving his jaw as though he’d been chewing on the words, “circumstance is what got you into those messes. It’s your smarts that got you out. And you keep doing it, too, you slippery little shit. I don’t see why you won’t do it again.”
“Ernest Conaugher,” Silvio gasped, fluttering his eyelashes, “that sounded suspiciously like a compliment. Is the Carebear with Crocs rubbing off on you?”
“Hell no,” Ernest answered with a rumble in his voice, eyeing his coffee. “Dante is good at his job, I’ll give him that, and he’s got enough bedside manner for the both of us–but if I gotta interact with him outside of this room for too long I swear I can hear my wife calling from the other side. ‘Go into the light, sugar, it’s nice and quiet here’.”
Silvio snorted, trying to suppress a grin. “Tell you what,” he said. “How about you and I hit the ZigZag after work? Do some catching up over a couple of drinks?”
“Sure. Why not,” Ernest sighed, looking at Silvio with a mix of resignation and familiarity. “I can tolerate you a smidge more than that golden retriever in a human body I work with.”
“I promise I’ll do the absolute minimum of trying to get you to smile. I’ll give myself three chances. Deal?”
The cranky medic seemed to accept the compromise, raising his coffee cup in a lazy toast.
“Deal. But if you call me ‘Ernie’ even once, I’m out.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Silvio reassured him. “Besides, I think we both know you’re clearly a Bert if not the unholy fusion of Statler and Waldorf.”
“You fuckin’ Muppet.”
“Waka waka! WAIT PUT YOUR COFFEE DOWN!”
“I can’t believe Ernest willingly drinks coffee that tastes like disappointment and lost faith in yourself.”
WE CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE TRYING TO SAVE A COFFEE-STAINED WHITE SHIRT
“Hey, I grew up poor and I worked for a drag house – my ability to salvage clothing is superb.”
In the world of apartment living, there were few sins sweeter than in-suite laundry. Maybe central air sat at the top of that list, but not having to worry about carrying around mason jars filled with quarters and watching his clothes like a hawk was awfully nice. It was also meditative. There was something immensely calming about sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by sunny yellow and rich blue decor and kitchen utensils culled from half a dozen thrift shops. It was an ideal time to think about his upcoming match.
Or it least it would have.
SILVIO.
“Wow, that’s new. Don’t usually use my name when we’re conversing.”
WE FEEL IT MAY BE TIME FOR US TO HAVE A DISCUSSION ABOUT OUR ARRANGEMENT.
The Oracle, who had been scrubbing determinedly away in a fabric-based war against the mighty staying power of Guatemala Antigua, slowed and then finally stopped, looking up, eyes wide with disbelief.
“…Yeah. Okay. That’s really new. I’m used to you being the one who decides what’s what. Something changed?”
IN A WAY. WE FEEL THAT YOU HAVE EARNED MORE FROM US THAN WHAT WE HAVE GIVEN YOU SO FAR.
“Uh…huh.” Setting aside his cleaning supplies and peeling the nitrile gloves from his hands, Silvio smirked, crossing his arms. “Please, tell me more about this eldritch raise I’m getting.”
YOU HAVE PROVEN MOST ADEPT WITH INSPIRING MADNESS AT AN ADEQUATE LEVEL. WE HAVE NOT KNOWN HUNGER SINCE YOU HAVE STEPPED INTO THE RING. YOUR SPECTACLE AND THE WAY YOU GO ABOUT THINGS – CONFUSING AND CAUSING YOUR OPPONENTS ANXIETY WITH THE TRAPPINGS OF THE OCCULT – IT HAS BEEN MOST EFFECTIVE.
“Well, I must be a biscuit because you seem intent on buttering me up, Big Boss Spookitude. Cut to the chase – what’s this about?”
WE KNOW THAT YOU HAVE BEEN UPSET WITH US. WE HAVE BEEN…PERHAPS A BIT IMPATIENT. BUT THE SENSATIONS AND VISIONS WE AFFORD YOU WHILE YOU ARE SERVING US NEED NOT BE YOUR ONLY REWARD.
Silvio’s smug expression faltered, mouth forming into a hard line as he felt that hungry little twinge wake up in the back of his head. Keeping his mind off of the craving, the itch had been easy lately. Moving across the country, getting set up in a new apartment, establishing a place in a new tattoo studio, wrestling for Ascended and doing all the promo and brand work had occupied almost every waking hour. There just wasn’t time to be bothered by it.
But it wasn’t gone.
“No.”
NO?
“Listen, I don’t care what you can do for me. Fact of the matter is, no matter how this shakes out, I get…”
God it was hard to say it out loud. He didn’t even want to think it.
“I get addicted to what you make me feel. That’s the baseline of doing business with your cosmically horrifying ass! I have come close to doing things I would have regretted for the rest of my life under your influence! I didn’t like who I was becoming in Baltimore. I didn’t like knowing what I had to do to get ahead there! And it all comes back to you.”
SO PETRIFIED OF BECOMING YOUR FATHER.
“Yes!” Silvio exclaimed, throwing his arms out to his sides, face angled upward as if exultant in confession. “Yes! I am terrified of becoming an addict! I am scared of being dependent on something that takes control away from me! I am horrified at the idea of finding out that this isn’t rock bottom, and I have even more freedom left to lose! And yeah! Part of that is because I saw what addiction did to my dad! What an insight, Spooky! Did you think real hard with your big, squirmy Cthulhu brain to solve that fucking mystery?!
“And, gosh, you’ve been a lot more willing to get diplomatic after I’ve figured out a way to, ‘say no to drugs’!”
YOU CANNOT HONESTLY BELIEVE THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP IS GOING TO SEVER US.
“Spookitude, at this point? I’d believe goddamn anything. I mean except anything coming from you. The chances of the guy benefiting the most from this situation being the one to point me in the right direction to end it are slim to nil. I don’t know if strengthening these connections and switching up the narrative is going to do the trick, but Hell – I don’t see how it could hurt. What’s the worst that happens? I’m still stuck with you but I got better connections with the people in my life? I’d have more dire stakes from eating a gas station egg salad sandwich!”
PERHAPS. BUT CONSIDER THIS. YOU’VE CAUGHT THE CREW’S ATTENTION AGAIN. THEY’RE COMING HERE AT SOME POINT AND YOU DON’T KNOW HOW SOON THAT MIGHT BE. WHEN THEY SHOW UP, DO YOU WANT MORE OR FEWER OPTIONS TO TAKE CARE OF THE SITUATION?
“I will cross that bridge when I come to it. But I’m not going to stop tugging on this thread.” He smirked. “I bet that idea scares you.”
OH YES, YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING— WHAT WAS IT THAT ERNEST CALLED YOU? AH, YES. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING, MUPPET.”
“See, that’s why, though. Who the fuck am I? Muppet? Absolutely! Just some poor guttersnipe from Seattle, right? Common as dirt, American mutt trailer trash with collegiate delusions of grandeur. And wouldn’t it just stick in your craw if it was me that broke this goddamn hex you put on my soul? Someone who must be to you what an ant is to a human being? Wouldn’t that just be the fucking worst?”
Face flushed, trembling a little, Silvio’s eyes searched the ceiling as if he would find some answer there. After a thunderous moment of silence, he got one.
ERNEST WAS RIGHT. IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE YOU WERE THIS MOTIVATED. YOU WILL DO WHAT YOU WILL DO. SOONER OR LATER, YOU’LL REALIZE THE FUTILITY OF YOUR ACTIONS AND ACCEPT THINGS AGAIN. TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU NEED.
WE CAN WAIT.
“I’m too young to feel this old.”
Sunlight filtering in through the windows mingling with the dim house lights, the Colosseum is empty. It feels peculiar being here without fans crowding the seats; the sort of quiet that only comes in a large, empty space sweeping its airy wings around you. The ring is highlighted by a brighter spotlight, Silvio Leon perched on one of the top turnbuckles. He’s dressed in his ring gear; black trunks and kickpads over black boots. The plainness of the apparel brings out his tattoos all the more, facial piercings glinting in the light as he speaks.
“I’m not used to people coming to me for advice and guidance. In fact, until now, I’ve been the one coming to others asking to be pointed in the right direction. It feels weird. But it’s something I’m just gonna have to get used to if I want to occupy the top spot in this or any other promotion.
“That’s part of what being a leader is, right? Learning from your experiences and passing that knowledge on to others; making the path easier to traverse for those that come after you. And if I want to be a champion at Ascended? Well, nobody’s going to be impressed by a champ that’s a follower.
“I’ve stated it in my previous promotion, but let me just reiterate for those who may just be getting to know their friendly neighborhood cryptid. Every match I have is a lesson, and every fighter I face is a teacher as much as they are an opponent. So when I saw I was booked against the Adorable Death Captain, I gotta say I was pretty stoked. What better teacher than somebody who has your kind of reputation, ADC?”
Silvio begins to tick off points on his fingers.
“You’re beloved back in the True North, so you’ve obviously got your charisma game down, you’ve done enough travel to become proficient in multiple styles of wrestling, which means you’re going to be adaptable, and you got a tendency to play fast and loose with the rules, so I’m going to have to be extra careful about any funny business.”
Looking up at the viewer again, Silvio grins, raising his brows.
“Sounds like I got my work cut out for me. But as far as your Mystifying Oracle is concerned? That’s fine and dandy.
“Every match is a lesson and every opponent is a teacher, so every fight is a dialogue. We have our opening statements, we trade points and counterpoints, and ultimately the victor is the one with the argument to which their opponent has no rebuttal. Who is able to make the best ‘case’ for themselves?
“I gotta say, you make a pretty compelling argument in and of yourself for the reasons mentioned previously in this promo. So the question is, what kind of rebuttal does Ascended’s resident spoopy boi have to make?”
Silvio drew in a deep breath through the nose before exhaling through the mouth, gathering his thoughts.
“When you grow up like I did, it’s easy to confuse confidence with arrogance, ambition with greed, self-improvement with conceitedness. I’ve had a hard time untangling those nuances and identifying the voices that planted those noxious seeds of doubt and self-recrimination in my mind in the first place. But once I finally dug down to the roots, I asked myself – are the people who planted these here in the first place people whose lives I would want to emulate? Are they happy?”
He shakes his head.
“And when I thought about it? I realized not one of them is. And if that was the case, why would I ever follow their advice?
“I’ve had some encouragement from my friends, done a lot of self-reflection, and I’ve decided I’m not going to feel guilty about having less than selfless desires. I’m going to stop limiting myself, acknowledge what I want and go after it with the hunger of a forest fire. I am starving for a chance to show exactly what I can do when I am unapologetic about my ambitions, so ADC, if you want to put me down just know you’re dealing with a phoenix searing and soaring for the first time with unclipped wings. Expect a conflagration for the congregation. Expect me to devour every single thing you have to teach me as we trade blows and go from student to master so quickly it’ll make your head spin. I am not here to do anything but get what I want and be who I aspire to be. I am not here to show the world anything other than why Ascended is the only place to be if you want to fulfill your potential. And if you do not bring what is necessary to cope with that, my man? If you are not willing to throw yourself upon the pyre of my rebirth to snuff it out?”
He smirks as he draws out a tarot deck from his gear, shuffling the cards before selecting one
“Well, it doesn’t take a prophet to know how this fight is going to turn out.”
Turning it around reveals a woman kneeling at a riverbank, ewers in her hands, a bright, starry sky stretching out above her.
“The Star. Rebirth, renewal, and hope.”
He winks and flicks the card at the camera, the screen going black.
“See you at Collision, Ascended Army.”
oracularmysteries 