The shot begins on the ceiling and slides down, past a banner on the wall that helpfully announces…

THURSDAY NIGHT AA MEETING

.

The shot continues its downward trajectory until it surprisingly lands on Kristoffer Arroyo, who is speaking and seated amongst the group.

“I first realized I had a problem when I was ousted from a cantina just outside Madrid in 1737.”

The group leader leans in with a surprised look on her face.

“I’m sorry, what?”

But Kris continues on, nonchalantly.

“I had just been turned, you see, and was struggling with dealing with my new reality. Everywhere I turned I could hear their blood rushing through their veins. My lust for it early on was so strong it physically hurt.”

The group leader looks even more shocked.

“I’m sorry, WHAT?!”

Kris finally notices her cadence. “I thought this was a judgement free zone?”

The group leader looks to the side, to the other group members who look equally as shocked and/or confused.

“Anyway, I had turned to the bottle to deal with my burgeoning vampiric essence. I thought myself a demon…a monster…and I struggled with these new urges so defiantly I felt like my only solace could be found in spirits. So I drank myself stupid. Night after night. Just like my ne’er do well opponent this week Frances Marigold.

But you see, I GET IT. I do! The attraction, the pull of sinking into that gin soaked oblivion. Sometimes feeling nothing at all is really superior to feeling like shit. Or at least I thought so, back then.”

One of the other group members timidly cuts in. “Um, excuse me, did you just say you’re a vampire?”

Kris looks at the man with a hint of distaste. “I’m going to need you to focus, sir.” He coughs. “Look, the point is, I’ve BEEN the Frances Marigold’s of the world, feeling that desperate desire to escape a brutal, unrelenting reality in the drink. Or in drugs. But here’s the difference between me and Frances: I grew up.”

The group leader cuts in again. “Look, I think I speak for everyone when I say, I’m still kinda stuck on the vampire thing.”

“Well, unstick yourself. My, my, what a bunch of Judgemental Judy’s here tonight. You bear your soul and admit to being one terror inducing creature of the night and it’s all anyone can talk about.” Kris grouses.

The group leader, cowed, sits back in her chair.

“As I was SAYING, I grew up. I stopped running from who and what I was and gathered the strength and the temerity to ACCEPT my new reality. And that’s where Frances and I differ. Frances is still, effectively, a child, hiding from the beasts in the closet under his bed. Fleeing in terror from the monstrous tragedy that is his everyday existence. But there comes a point in time when you have to put the damn bottle down and stop hiding….stop fleeing!”

“Okay, okay, but if you’re a vampire how did you get here? It’s still daylight outside.” Another group member chirps up.

Kris sighs and massages the bridge of his nose. “The whole “dies in daylight” thing is a myth.”

“Wow, really? Just like in Twilight!”

“No, not like in Twilight. Look, can I finish?!”

The interrupting group member winces and silences himself.

“Thank you!” Kris huffs. “Now Vinnie Lane may think you’re exactly what the XWF needs, but I beg to differ. You’re a relic, Frances. The saddest relic of all. I’ll bet Scoops McGee hasn’t lost control of his sphincter and doesn’t piss blood on the regular. Not like you, my friend! But regardless, you’re just another pathetic old man who has misplaced finesse and art and substituted spectacle and ultraviolence. Sounds like someone else I know.

This industry is built off the bodies of people like me. People who put in the work. Who spend countless hours in the gym. Who practice and perfect technique and pour their heart and soul into the dignity and grace at the heart of this sport. But why bother with all that when you can just swing a garbage can and bleed like a stuck pig in front of a bingo hall’s worth of penniless reprobates? Now if it sounds like I’m being elitist Frances it’s because I FUCKING AM.

It’s because contrary to what that aging pseudo rockstar who inked your contract thinks, you aren’t some primordial spark that is just what the XWF needs. No, in fact you’re the LAST thing this company needs. The XWF has evolved beyond the need to shamelessly debase itself at the altar of laziness, gore, and blatant shock value. And yes, Samael, that goes double for you.

Kris pauses, looking around at the rest of the group who seem to be in various states of confusion, stunned silence, and wondering where the fuck that camera man came from. He shrugs, returning his gaze to the camera.

But please Frances. Bring those clumsy punches, those sloppy beal tosses. Bring a litany of foreign objects to the ring. I WELCOME them Frances. Because I want you in your utmost element when I bust you open and win this match. I want to show Vinnie Lane and all the rest of the backwards nitwits in the back that the age of the “bleating drunken Hepatitis vector” is over and done with. This is the era of people who TRY. Who WORK. Who actually give a damn about the future of this business and the people in it.

And the best part of all Frances? You’re my dry run for a man not unlike you. Perhaps with a smidgen more class and dignity, but ultimately cut from the same cloth.

Yeah Frances, you’re my warm up for Scoops McGee.

See you Thursday. If you can pry yourself out of the gutter long enough to show up.