Winter by definition was supposed to be beautiful. A snowy paradise where all dreams can come true. Well the hard truth about winter is it's the hardest time of the year. More people bite the business end of a revolver between December and March than any other time of year. Why, because it's fuckin' miserable. This shithole wasn't much, but it was hit for the time being. Ghosts was only days away and not too mention they invited him. He could see why the people here refereed to the state and Misery. Didn't much matter to him though, a chance to wrestle was all he was looking for. 'Time ta' make us som' mor' good ole days,' Remy told himself confidently. He wasn't the spring chicken he once was, in fact you might be able to make the argument that his chicken might have already sprung. One glimpse into those soft brown eyes could show you all the horrors life has to offer. His time inside revealed to him the true nature of humanity... to torcher. There was a point when Leroux was perfectly fine with that being his fate. One could even argue he felt he deserved it. After all he could never live up to the expectations that came from his father. Alot was expected from New Orleans royalty, his father and his father's father and his father's father were very influential in the development of the city. There he was a degenerate gambler with a wrestling addiction. Might as well of been at this point in the game there was nothing he could do to change that blind fool's opinion. Click... click... click... click Didn't matter how many fucking times he pressed that button there still wouldn't be shit on television. Well unless you're a fan of sitting down and watching someone else win the World Series of Poker. To a gambler watching someone else gamble could be more painful than a root canal. The the channel surfing competition was once again in full effect. Bzzzzzz, Bzzzzzzz The shitty pre-paid phone he'd been carrying for months was still there. A little more worn than the last time he left it sitting out but still present all the same. Remy released a sigh. He'd been here before just on the cusp of suicide looking like a pleasant release more than a scared escape. Just like then he knew if he could just hold out something more was coming. The combination of boredom and lying on the bed finally put the stressed out Cajun to sleep. His eyes opened... he shot a quick look into the mirror. It was just him there, no one else. He must have just dosed off he thought. Remy stood up, he looked around trying to make sure everything was just as it was supposed to be. When he reached under the mattress to make sure his weapon was there he felt somewhat reassured. Still fatigued he sat on the foot of the bed and rested his head in the palms of his hands. These past couple of months have been very trying. Sure there was a chance that his parole officer could be violating him. He just needed to make sure he was gainfully employed before he told them where he was. Besides once there was visual evidence of him still competing they wouldn't dare deny him the right to work. With the economy being what it is a man has to earn a living. Leroux took notice of his surroundings a little closer, a light fog was creeping under the door and into his room. 'Oh Remy dis cain't be good,' he said to himself just as his body went limp. 'Dis really kain't be good.' The fog took on more characteristics of mist as it rose through the room. Remy remained glued to the bed, a panicked look attached to his face. The first figure that presented itself to him as his old C/O. The hard ass himself. Leroux hated him, as did every other inmate but to a level they all respected him. From his likeness to the she devil's... Azhrarn. From her's to Grimm's, their connection to each other had an inherit admiralty to it. From his younger brother to his father's, even through the mist he could see the disapproving gaze. Here he was in a place it didn't matter how big or bad he was, trapped in his own nightmares. It's been said with conscious there comes regrets, here is where they hold their voices. From his old man to various figures from his past, some he remembered, some he just knew he'd wronged. Finally it was happening, his past had come to claim it's next victim. The surly Cajun tried to pinch himself, he wanted nothing more than to forgo his penance, at least for another night. Finally surrounding the bed the mist changed into a crowd of all those souls from his previous lives. Their eyes pierced directly through his tough exterior, they knew just like he knew everyone pays a price in the end. Panic set in, followed quickly by a blanket of guilt. He couldn't change what he'd done to them, but they could make him remember. They could remain with his conscious, setting Remy up for nightly bouts with memories of people he may never be able to fully let go of. His grandmother and grandfather appeared over him, even they had seen far too much of his life to be able to look past all the horrible things he'd done. Again Remy struggled as the spirits engulfed him. Soon there were no faces. Soon there were no sounds... until...
His chest pounded like a thundering stampede across a Savannah. His eyes bolted around the room looking for any evidence of the mist or his past. He tried to slow down his rapid and deep breaths, he wanted to again feel control, at least over his own body.
Just hanging out of his gym bag sat a photo. Under the bad lighting of the hotel it's glare caught his eye in passing. A photo he undoubtedly packed, maybe it slipped in. There they were two boys, they didn't have a clue.
Even then Harley was two inches taller than Remy. He reached out and grabbed the picture. A slight smile crossed his face.
'Eeriet'ing gon' be jus' fine.' he said outloud to no one imparticular.
The Keystone Championship was defended as a part of the NA Championship in an interpromotional match at F.A.T.E?
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