((The West Coast... notice the capitalization...))

((The picture is handheld and unsteady, the focus is on, Angelica Roberts, and the light streaming in through the glass patio doors, which touches down upon her slender form, let us know it's a bit past noon. She'd had a long night, and a full morning of jogging along the beach. After a shower and little breakfast of fruits and cheeses she'd retired to the couch with the intent to settle down with a book for a long sessions of reading. Thirty minutes later she'd dosed off.))

((If you were to asked him later on he could never tell you what had possessed him to film her sleeping. Possibly it was in the way the sun glinted off her golden hair. Maybe it was because of that certain way her face relaxed and brightened in her slumber. Or perhaps it was simply because he could. Because he saw something in her, in that moment, that he wanted everyone else to see.))

((Her slim form shifts slightly upon the plush couch, her cream colored silk robe clinging to every curve, as she lets out a small sigh of breath. The camera moves in on her face... ))

November: Beauty is, and always will be, in the eye of the beholder.

((The view blurs for a moment and then focuses on her lips. Normally thin and seemingly in a constant frown they seem now very soft and inviting. They part slightly and another sigh escapes her... ))

Now's the part were I'm suppose to become enraged and threaten, Bryce, with his life if he ever talks about, Angelica, again... right?

((He laughs. It's a soft and jabbing kind of laugh. One, Bryce had heard before in the past. One, Kyle uses when he playfully insults a friend.))

Come off it, Bryce. You think she's a dog, I don't... end of story. I'm with her, I love her, and so of course I find her attractive and desirable, and, and... The point is this my friend. You can insult her if you want, but it really doesn't bother me. It's kind of a moot point. A stupid argument. That I'm wasting time explaining this to you right now is of itself asinine and stupid. Why do you waste time with such trivial and school yard matters? I thought you were somebody? I thought you had a mind?

Well here's an idea use it to create something new. Because, and I repeat from ten-days ago, everything you're saying is recycled. Take a listen to a couple of, Aaron Faith, interviews, and you'll be damning yourself. But, hey I've already wasted too much time on this one subject when in fact there's a question that needs answered.

((The view drifts up from her lips, across her finely formed nose, and finally comes to rest on a closed lid. Beneath the soft flap of skin we notice minute movement...))

Who am I? And not just "who am I", but... who am I really? Well I feel a bit like, Marcus, now to tell you the truth because he happened to answer this same question not too long ago, but I digress because I'm not , Marcus, and I have a much different answer.

You don't need to know who I really am. I come out here, I wrestle, I make some money, turn some heads, upset your boss, and then at the end of the day go home with the woman I love on my arm. Well, not always but you get the point. For some reason though everyone is trying to convince me that I have to be something more... that I am something more. It's almost as if they need me to hold a certain kind of significance so that their lives start to matter again.

Take, Jeffery, for example. He's convinced that I want that moniker he's been toting around for the last six-years or so. Of course this great epiphany of his comes about after he beats the living snot out of me, with your help, Bryce, and then tells me with all the bitterness his stubby body can muster that I'll never have it. So what do I do?

I laugh in his fucking face.

Because he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting some bitter fight from my side of things. Some harsh and profound words about why I am this, and why I am that. So I didn't give him that... I gave him the truth, but he didn't want to hear the truth so instead do you know what he did in return?

((A soft grunt of protest comes from Angelica as her body rolls away from the camera. Her closed lid is lost in a blur until finally we settle into the soft nest of her hair. The view is pulled back slightly to take in more of the light show of sun light shimmering across strands of blonde...))

He dictated to me what I wanted to be. Told me that I was just a hair breaths away from being... well to put it bluntly... him. And this is all funny because he was telling me, just weeks ago in fact, that I'd never be "him", or "it", or "the charm". So I'm confused, Bryce. So many people didn't want me to be "The Charm", and yet the second I turn away from it... now I'm told I have to be "The Charm."

And we're right back to where I started about others needing me to be something. To want something more then I currently have. Of course the way I look at it I have enough. All eyes on me. Point spotlight here and don't move it. Everything I do causes a ripple somewhere. Everyone here, and by that I mean of significance because really who in the hell cares about Dante, Ray Stanford, Synskin, and what's his name, is following my lead. Just some of them don't notice how much the LWF is about me.

And maybe that's through my design. Or maybe it's because of my last name. Or maybe it's because I'm an AOWF Champion now... really I don't know, but the truth of the matter is I am currently in the drivers seat, and as I look around now I don't see anyone who can truly topple me.

((The view pulls back even more until finally her whole form comes into frame. She's pulled her body up into a tight ball, the bottoms of her bare feet facing us, as her soft shoulder rises a falls with shallow breaths. He pauses only for a moment before continuing...))

In fact I'm so confident in what I am to the LWF that I'll gladly step out on a limb and lay this little ultimatum down to the powers that be. If Angelica goes, I go, Gabrielle goes, I'm sure Marcus goes, and the LWF topples soon after. Now that's not a theory I'd like to put to a test, but if push comes to shove it'll happen, and then we'll just have to start all over again somewhere else. I don't plan on this becoming some big argument between our two sides. You laid out your threat, we laid out ours, and now we'll see how everything plays out.

((Angie, rolls on the couch again until she's once again facing us. Her left arm dangles limply off the edge of the couch... delicate fingertips just a hairs breath from the hardwood floor.))

Sorry... I lost you there for a little bit, Bryce, but sometimes the grown-ups have words for one another that don't really concern you. Still I managed to answer your question on who I am before I got into all that. Because that answer I gave you really is the only one that could possibly work in this situation.  

And I repeat: you don't need to now who I am.

I know, I know, it's not the answer you wanted. You wanted something spirited and uplifting. Something that stirred the soul and lifted the spirit, but the fact of the matter is there would have been no truth in that. Oh sure I could always go back to that stone cold and emotionless, November, that I was. To that actor I had become. I could become that loner again who lashed out at everyone and hated all, but where did that get me? What did I achieve by trying to be something I wasn't?

What you're respect? I had your respect back then? Well who in the fuck says you matter? Who says I wanted or needed your respect? I do what I do for me, and now her. Always have and always will. I won't change and be something I'm not anymore because everyone else doesn't like what I've become.

I'm November, Kyle Matthew Lee, former this, current that, and in love with what you see before you. This sport doesn't define me and never will again. If I don't win another match in my fucking life then I'm ok with that. I can live the rest of my life being another has been, but right now, in this moment. I'm perfect and I'm more then anyone here. Think I'm wrong? Think I'm flawed? Step into the ring with me for real... when it matters.

You won't be happy with the outcome. 

((Blue eyes blink open, the view fades to darkness, and we hear a tired and groggy feminine voice...))

What in the hell are you doing?

A promo? 

What's with the camera?

Well one does tend to use camera's in the "filming" of promos.

Don't patronize me. You were filming me.

You looked cute.

You shouldn't film me.

Why not?

It's not smart.

Again... why not?

I don't want to become a liability.

((silence...))