The Lost Boys - All roads lead to New Orleans

[TheLostBoys]

Dean Coulter stood before the hotel room door, his hand raised and ready to knock. He leaned in, ear practically against the surface of the door and strained to hear whomever was inside.

The Lost Boys’ short-lived break was over, mercifully so. The second consecutive loss had not been well received by Sam Braxton. What was worse they were now getting recognised in the streets, which normally isn’t a bad thing, except that the general populace thought the Australian tag-team was an absolute joke. Sam had almost gotten himself into several fights throughout the week. Which would have meant more jail-time. So Dean had restricted him to the hotel-room for a time. To let him cool off. Now, thankfully, they had been booked for the upcoming Monday Night Sacrifice. Dean had hoped the good news would have proven an effective segue into some of his own thoughts and concerns he wanted to share with his dear friend. He took in a deep breath.

No turning back now.


*Knock, knock, knock*


There were the sounds of shuffled movement, some muffled voices and the door was practically wrenched open. Standing on the other side of the door way was Sam Braxton. Clothed in nothing but a pair of Marvel boxers. He seemed equally as surprised to see Dean standing there as Dean was to see him.


“Sam?”


“Dean?”


“So…ah…We got a match coming up, reckon you got a minute?”


“Not really mate. We thought you were room service…”


We?

It was then that Dean saw the figure behind Sam, a strikingly beautiful brunette who had hurriedly thrown the bedlinen over herself to protect her modesty.

Oh my!


“Oh right. Um…Pleased to meet you miss.” Dean said and waved awkwardly to the brunette. “Well when you get a chance…”

“Yeah, of course. Match-talk and all that stuff. But ah…I may need the room for a bit. Going to practice some new…holds…I’ll text you later yeah?”


“Sure…” Dean barely managed to finish responding before Sam closed the door on him. At least he was feeling better…

With another of his token exaggerated sighs, a common occurrence for those who have to deal with Same Braxton. Dean turned himself around and made his way to the lobby of the Troubadour Hotel. There he stood blankly and tried to figure out where to go, what to do next. So he just wandered aimlessly around New Orleans, until he found himself a nice solitary spot at Duncan Plaza park.
Not for the first time Dean was overcome by pangs of nostalgia and home-sickness, not for the first time he felt discomfort at the current state of affairs.

Thanks to the evolution of cellular phone technology Dean indulged his sudden desire for a trip down memory lane by scanning through an album of aged photos on his phone. Digital image after digital image of himself, Sam and their third compatriot, Bobby Walker, in the prime of their Australian career. Instantly Dean identified two differences from their times back then and now.

The most obvious was the distinct lack of their third, Bobby. The other was the broad, bright smiles upon their faces in the photo. There were fewer and fewer smiles. Once again Dean released a sigh and left himself to the mercy of his thoughts.

---

The next day Dean managed to wrangle a bit of one on one time with his friend and partner. He deliberately picked a local café as their meeting spot. As great as it was to see Sam feeling better, Dean didn’t want to risk anything with the addition of alcohol.


“You realise what time it is?” Sam groaned.


“Time we got down to business. You remember who our opponents are for this match?”


“Ah yeah, Peterson and ah…Hawthorne…Hawkhunt…Or something.”


“Hawkhurst. Dorian Hawkhurst.”


“Yeah. Those guys. Don’t worry I watched some tapes and crap.”


“Well good. But I actually had something else I want to ask.”


“Oh? What’s up?”


“Are we actually doing the right thing?”


“Of course we are!”


“You don’t feel there’s something wrong? Or that WE’RE in the wrong?”


“Hell no! Back home we were at the pinnacle of our careers. We were revolutionaries. And we agreed to come out of our hiatus to show the world what they are missing out on by settling for this far inferior and stale rubbish. We are going to show them there is more out there, they just need to look beyond their on bloody walls. How can that be wrong?”


“But we’re not back home. It just…It just doesn’t feel right. Have you seen or heard the people out there?”


“You’ve always been the one to tell me not to bother with what other people think. Especially the ignorant refuse around us now.”


“I know but-“


“Wait. This is about me isn’t it? About my behaviour at our recent losses?”


“Well…I have to admit you forgotten a fundamental fact about this business. OUR business. There is more to it than just winning.” Awkward silence followed and a homely waiter brought to them their warm caffeinated beverages. When it seemed Dean was about to beak under the tense pressure of the silence, Sam broke it.


“You’re right. I’ve been so convinced that for us to truly accomplish what we want we need to win. But we don’t need to win against these guys to beat them. There are other avenues to victory.” Dean stopped to study his friend. It wasn’t actually what Dean had in mind. “You still got my back though right? You forgive me for falling into a trap?” Yet another of Dean’s trademark sighs, this one however was internally. If nothing else it was progress.


“Always mate.”

----

The camera footage faded out of black to show Sam Braxton and Dean Coulter standing together, the angle revealed little of their surroundings. It just appears to be a generic wall of a nondescript building. Of which New Orleans had many. Sam is the first to speak, his gaze locked onto the camera.


“It is safe to say we are now known to you.”


“A fact made all the clearer by your sneers, your jabs, your memes and all other jokes you have come up about us. But no matter. Your hate, your constant derision only fuels our fires more. See we got our eyes on the prize. It will be all the more satisfying when we finally prove everyone wrong and show you the truth of our ambition.”


“You may think us unnerved, faltering, because our first couple of matches haven’t exactly gone to plan. Sure it’s proven disadvantageous to our cause, we can’t deny that, but we ultimately accept the loses for what they are. The nature of this business.”


“It’s going to take more than simple losses to be rid of us, if nothing else you should know that we Australians are damned determined s.o.b. So it would be better for all concerned if you just got used to our mugs. You’ll be seeing ALOT of them.”

“Sam and I are in it for the long haul. You can’t instigate radical change in a matter of weeks. We knew coming in this would be an all-encompassing, time-consuming enterprise. But the end result is worth it. A fact you will come to learn. Whether you like it or not. I believe the saying goes, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.””


“But, we are not trying to build anything physical. Our task is so much more difficult than that. For what we want to create is met…meta…metaph…”


“Metaphysical, Sam?”


“Yeah…that one.”


“Right. With that in mind our eyes turn to Monday night, where we will once again clash with “The Underdog” Will Peterson. A man who has proven himself an incredibly competent and talented individual, picking up a series of impressive wins and undeniably making quite a name for himself. We appreciate the fact you have recognised and acknowledged the threat we pose to your little hot-streak. Lately though it seems you have your own problems, a past that is coming to haunt you in both a literal and figurative sense.”


“You can’t run from your demons forever Pound Puppy. Haven’t you seen In Hell? Paranormal Activity? That’s some seriously intense shit.”


“To bring it into context of our upcoming match, it means Will you won’t be entirely focused on the contest. You will be distracted. You will make mistakes.”


“A fact we intend to capitalise to the very fullest.”


“Your partner on the other hand…He is the anomalous factor in this match. A man called Dorian Hawkhurst.”

“Besides a name that sounds like it came from a Fantasy Name Generator, he at least seems to have something of a personality. Unlike that OTHER partner. Or those hicks…”


“He’s much more than that though Sam. Dorian has actually shown himself to be a hard-working and driven competitor. He has some impressive victories and noteworthy moments in some of the more significant matches IWF has had to offer recently. Though he may not have the same level of finesse as Will Peterson, he knows how to lay out an opponent and get the job done. Trust me. We underestimate either opponent to our peril.”


“Even so, how will Dorian feel knowing his tag-team partner for the match is coming in with some serious emotional baggage weighing him down?”


“Indeed. Such unresolved issues can make or break the outcome of a match…” It was the slightest of movements and lasted only a second, but Dean’s eyes shifted to regard his own partner as he spoke. Sam remained completely oblivious.


“Not that you’re a paragon of saint-hood or the straight and narrow, are you Dorian? The Demon of Sobriety? We’ll make it easy on you. Just don’t show up, stay at home and enjoy a couple of nice cold ones. We’ll swing by your place after the show and we can have a great time. You’ll feel all the better for it. You’ll accomplish a lot more. Do you really think you can wash away your past misdeeds, all of your regrets and mistakes if you gain fame and repute through achievements in a wrestling ring? You and Will are about as misguided as each other...”


“Sam can actually speak from experience. He fell of the wagon, so to speak, ever since we arrived here in the IWF. He well and truly lost his way. He got so caught up in the notion of winning and losing, he lost sight of why we are truly here.”

“Dean made me realise my error. See Will and Dorian we don’t need to win to beat you. We don’t need to ‘WIN’ to stand triumphant. So I hope you come prepared. For we are no longer holding ourselves back. We will stop at NOTHING to be where we should be in the grand scheme of things.”