((The walls were a dingy white...almost a yellow at this point. Old and reeking of smoke and all forms of human odor. From his place upon the hotel bed he could see a patch of paint on the ceiling cracking and peeling...peeling and cracking. He swore to himself that if he listened long enough he could actually hear it ripping away from the wall.))

((The hotel was a dive, there was no doubt about that...it had the whole Bates Motel feel to it and everything, but it had been there when he had nodded off at the wheel and swerved off the road. It had been midnight, Sunday morning, and thankfully there had been no traffic, but perking his ear up to listen to the nearby road he had doubts there was ever traffic.))

((He rolled to his side, his dark eyes looking at the camera yet past it at the same time. Behind him, just barely in focus, on a night table a bottle can be made out...tequila most likely, maybe vodka. He hasn't shaven yet...definitely hasn't showered. It's a little after 2-PM on a Monday...))

November: I suppose it'd be easier to blame her.

((His tone is weak and raspy thanks to an overly dry throat. He knows he should get something to drink, but he doesn't want to move...In fact he doesn't even want to open his eyes.))

November: It doesn't look good when you're sent in to play the supporting role, and the whole fucking thing collapses on you. Whatever...

((Lee's eyes close. After a moment like that he again rolls over onto his back a left hand finding it's way to his forehead. He'd kill for some aspirin right now. Or a gun...))

November: But, the beat goes on...yadda-da-da-da, and the beat goes on...-sigh-

((Slowly Kyle pushes up from his back to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his bare torso is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He really needs to get something to drink, but the room needs to stop spinning first. Bringing his hands up to his head he leans forward until his elbows are on his knees...))

((Still it could have been worse. Angelus, could have called, but from what he could gather Gabrielle was the one who got the call in the end.))

November: How I envy Brandon Nova at this point in time. When he fails...no one's paying attention. When he succeeds...no one's paying attention. When he speaks...I'll be amazed. I'd like to be mediocre I think. Sign a contract, make the league minimum, and then bail on the contract in the span of a month. The AOWF needs better lawyers...I hear Elysa's available...

((He swallows hard trying to make his voice work properly, but he still won't move, or open his eyes, so we continue to watch his back. On top of the dresser in front of him there's a little black Bible. He was thumbing through it Sunday night amidst his drinking...because he heard it was the number-one best seller of all time. He couldn't get past the first passage...))

November: What must it be like, Brandon? To be so unimportant? So miniscule on the grand scale of things? I wonder sometimes about you and others like you. Do you actually aspire to be anything? Or do you accept what you are? Me? I'd like to accept what I am, but there's a cock sucker in Hawaii that won't drop it. I suppose though...since I started it I should finish it, but that's the thing. There really is no way to finish it is there?

It's all a bunch of fucking circles. 

((He can feel his stomach churn, and as it does his face goes white. Praying to the porcelain god might do him some good right about now, but he can't do that jut yet...because he's got to interview. He's got to do.))

November: See Brandon...you're a nobody. While I? I'm suppose to be some kind of fucking wrestling demi-god...or at least that's what my genes would have you believe, but you know...the truth of the matter is...I'm hungover.

((That really isn't what he meant to say, but it was the only thing that came to mind. Actually there was another thought in there about a girl, but he really didn't want to think about that at just this moment in time. Besides thinking about her would just lead t trouble.))

November: You really wanna know the fucked thing about this whole situation, Brandon? It's how guys like Tommy Riley...who can't even put together a coherent thought, and have yet to master the English language, are considered successful. I mean...fuck...why does my scale have to differ so greatly from theirs? They win a couple of mediocre title and suddenly they're somebody...and yeah I did say mediocre, and yeah I did disrespect a lot of titles right there, but try living in my world for a second and you'll see exactly how much respect a Television title gets you...

Hey, have I impressed you yet Drake? What about you Shawn? Dad? Mom? 

If only I could have been born into a mediocre life where nothing was expected of me. Because then I'd be somebody already. I'd be fantastic.

((Finally he drops his hands away from his head, leaving his hair ruffled and disheveled looking. He chances opening his eyes and as he does so he looks back at the camera through the mirror hanging above the dresser. Her eyes are hard to look into. He can remember the first time, and how they felt so invading.))

((He hated Idaho...they all hated Idaho.))

November: Yeah, I'm going to win this match I've decided. It just doesn't make sense for me to lose anymore. Ever. So excuse me in advance for finally deciding to live up to my name. After all the month did make us all who we are today. The pain brought the rage, and the rage made his legacy...our legacy. Someone tell Twenty-One to get up off his ass...he's starting to make me look good.

((Slowly he stands, and starts to move towards the back of the room...there's a toilet with his name on it.))

((black...))