OOC note: Sorry about my lack of coding. I was really rushed for my first RP with work looming at the time, and for this one...well, it's 4AM and I'm tired. I coded the trash talk and was like...yeah...enough of that. Just imagine the rest for me, Ethan speaking in red and George in blue, and save me fifteen or so minutes coding. ;)
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I didn't see Ethan for most of the next two days. I'd bring food up to his room around the usual times, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Most of the time when I did, he'd be sleeping. If he was awake, he would be staring, bleary-eyed over a face full of stubble, at the random patterns flickering across the media player on his computer screen. I wasn't even sure if it was the music he was listening to; the content varied every time, but the sound was always so low that I could barely make it out.

It was around five or six in the early evening of day two after the last Uprising, when I stepped quietly into his room with dinner on a tray. I jolted for a moment when I saw his bed empty, but realized quickly that it was one of those rare times that he was awake, sitting at his desk and staring blankly at the computer screen. The patterns had him transfixed again, wild lights dancing in circles to the haunting melody of Eleanor Rigby.

I put the tray down on the bed, finally making up my mind and steadying myself, the consequences be damned. I cleared my throat loudly, causing Ethan to slowly turn toward me with a thousand-yard stare.

'Dinner already? Thanks, George.'

He spoke with a soft, lost tone. With the same blank expression and slow motion, he turned back to face the computer screen. I shook my head slightly, squaring my shoulders, before I grunted again, about twice as loud as the first time.

He jerked slightly this time, finally some kind of emotion touching his face, as he winced in pain and clutched his neck before turning to face me.

'I heard you, George. I'll eat in a bit, just leave it.'

A final time I shook my head to myself, as he turned away yet again. Internally, the sympathetic part of me had fallen away, burrowing deep within again, unwilling to reach out to this recluse. All that I felt now was responsibility. I promised Blake Dashery and Ethan's family that I'd watch out for him. If he wanted to break his neck in a wrestling ring, that was his prerogative. But I certainly wouldn't let him collapse under the weight of his own...whatever, living like Howard Hughes in a single room of a huge house.

I stepped over toward Ethan, only coming to a stop a foot or so behind him. Reaching overhead, to the window beyond his computer and desk, I grabbed the curtain rod and yanked it right out of the window. I threw it onto the bed, before marching over to the other window on the far side of the bed, and doing the same there as well. Ethan finally jolted enough to mutter a curse, apparently again feeling the pain from just about any movement of his neck. He straightened up in the chair, and was just rising to face me when I stepped away, back toward the doorway, and flicked the light switch on. Between the overhead light and the now-clear windows, the room was suddenly very bright. Ethan's expression finally bubbled over with anger as his eyes narrowed in the light.

'George, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?! I told you I was going to eat when I damn well pleased! Now GO!'

He pointed defiantly to the door. Last time he gave me the same expression, I didn't listen either. Last time, however, rather than leaving the arena, I went to find a seat. This time? I wasn't even leaving this room.

'This isn't about food...sir.' I accented the final word sarcastically. 'It's about who you are. I don't mean to get all Rafiki on you, but take a look in the mirror.'

'Get...out...of my...room! NOW!' He bellowed at me defiantly, like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Instead of listening, I stepped toward him, and in yet another seeming parody of days ago, gripped him by the shoulder. Instead of a comforting gesture, though, this was decisive and aggressive. I yanked him, cursing all the while, away from his computer chair and in front of the massive mirror that sat atop his dresser.

Sure enough, as soon as I let go of him, positioned in front of the mirror, he turned his back on his reflection, crossing his arms, and I swear to god, sticking out his lower lip. It was then that I decided to let him have it. The gentle approach wasn't going to work.

'What the hell are you doing, Ethan? Look at you, puffing your chest like an angry little child. You're acting like a vagrant, a common hobo! This room stinks like a weeks-worth of sweat and grime, and you've only been in here two days!'

'What do you care about how I live, George? Huh? What is it that's so damn important to you?!'

'It's nothing about you, Ethan, trust me. Nothing of the sort. I promised your family that I'd watch out for you, though. I'm not about to let them down...Blake, Milly, or little Ethan especially...after you have already!'

If you're keeping score at home, it's George 1, Ethan 0. I might even give myself triple credit or more on that one. I could tell it hit home, stinging him with the same expression that usually only came across his face for the agony of his neck.

'So that's what it is. You've been watching me all the while, reporting back, just like you said you weren't. You're a lying scumbag, George. I should've known. Nothing but a common piece of trash, nothing more, nothing less.'

Still Ethan 0. I wasn't giving him any credit for the same garbage he spewed to everyone else, not against me anyway. I'd heard it a thousand times. I knew better. He needed to do better if he wanted a leg to stand on here.

'I have NEVER reported back to them, Ethan. I told you I didn't, and I haven't. You can believe me or not, that's up to you. But frankly, between the two of us, I'm the one wearing a clean set of clothes today. I shaved and showered this morning. And I'm the commoner? Me?'

George 2, Ethan 0.

'Take a look in the mirror, Ethan. You're the god-damned Dashery. You're the crown prince of a respected legacy! I'm nobody! When you make your place in the world, you're going to go back home and they're going to throw you a parade! You're going to be the toast of every palace and castle that dates back to when my ancestors were working the fields outside of them. You're...Ethan...Dashery. Me? When I retire, I'm going to live in Idaho, the land of potatos. So please tell me, Ethan...if I'm the commoner, and you're Ethan freaking Dashery...why we look like we do right now?' I gestured toward the mirror, and Ethan spun, clutching his neck, but looking more pained by his reflection than anything else.

George 3, Ethan 0. Game, set, match.

'Now you know how professional I am. I'm not going to stand here gloating over your fall from grace like it somehow makes me feel better. Because it doesn't. What I will tell you is that you have an hour to eat dinner, shower, shave and change clothes. Then we're cutting a promo for your match.'

He stared at the mirror for a moment longer, seeming to mutter incoherently under his breath. His anger was gone, replaced by something resembling horror, hopefully at what he'd sunk to. I gave up trying to make heads or tails of his expressions, though. I've long since realized he's been on a different wavelength.

'Time to stop staring, and turn back into Ethan Dashery. Your hour starts...' I glanced to my watch. 'Now.'

With that, I stepped out of the room. As I walked down the hallway, I unwrapped a Ghirardelli chocolate that I had in my pocket. It was amazing, as expected, but I felt I deserved it. That whole thing went a whole lot better than expected.

Back in the room, Ethan had moved, now hunching over his bed. His expression was growing defiant, as he stuffed food into his mouth from the plate George had left on his bed. All the while, his eyes were locked on his cell phone, which sat beside the tray, open. There was a text from Mildred's number.

'Saw the show. Hope yur okay dad. Gonna be a champ soon. Ethan.'

He clapped the phone shut, as he popped several pills in his mouth, and washed them down with the cup of water on the tray. Then he finally stepped out of the room, the blank expression gone, replaced by something resembling Ethan Dashery.

The camera came to life as Ethan Dashery did the same, exposed as himself again, nothing resembling the shell of a person he became more and more often for a few days following particularly brutal shows. He smiled broadly, not even wearing his almost-trademark neck brace at the moment.

'It's been a while, world, so let me catch you up on a few things. For being supposedly one of the worst wrestlers on the NLW roster...I'm still here. I'm winning almost every time I step into that ring. My old foes, though? Just where have Okuma and Nick James gone? From the time I started here, all I ever heard was how I didn't have a prayer against the Osaka Warrior with his wrestling skills. How I was half the high-flyer that was 'Untamed' Nick James. How I was a flash in the pan, a one-hit wonder at best. Over time, Nick James and Okuma were the future of NLW, and over time, I would be working at the concession stands at shows! That's right, everyone, you thought Ethan Dashery had nothing, not a prayer on your precious heroes.'

Ethan spread his arms wide, as if offering himself for the world as a whole.

'Take a look at this place now. Where have Okuma and Nick James gone? I'll tell you. Back to Japan and Canada. Back home. Back...to mediocrity. Meanwhile, Ethan Dashery? This guy, you remember? I beat Josh Allen. I beat your champion, the one star who shone brighter in your eyes than even Okuma and James. Yet all I get for it is mystery opponents. Midcard matches. Vague promises of big plans for me. It's a shame that I let my lawyers go, right as this disaster of a federation just about guaranteed me a major payoff when they give a World Title shot to an overrated jackass like Ray Lopes. I beat Josh Allen. And not on an off show either. Vincent Cain beats him when everyone knows Joshie was fighting a relapse of the butt-rot or something similar. Me? I beat Josh Allen on his A game. Everyone here knows it. Ray Lopes knows it. The simply fact is that I'm better than you, Lopes. I'm better than you too, Allen. The question is how long will the joke continue, the joke of NLW denying me my proper place in the wrestling world. How long can they hide their privately selected chosen ones from me?'

He shook his head slightly in frustration, before rubbing the side of his neck with his hand. There was a moment of silence, with Ethan perhaps obviously fighting off showing any blatant reaction from the pain in his neck. Finally, he extended an arm forward, as he changed the subject.

'Forgive me, Drake. I haven't forgotten about you. See, you, you haven't had a chance to screw things up between us yet. Oh no. That puts you in a very good situation compared to the overhyped Lopes, the overrated nostalgia of the Phoenix, the complete juvenile jackassery of JC. See, as I was saying, it's only a matter of time before I'm on top of this federation. Nick James was a blip on my radar. Since then, I've been unstoppable, no matter the opponent. It's only a matter of time, Drake, it really is. So you're in a good position going forward, if you'd be interested in watching my back. The Legacy Title, Anarchy X...they're easily within your reach, especially if you've got me as a World Champion backing you.'

His expression grows darker, as he gestures further while continuing.

'This coming show, however, we need to make some clear distinctions. I'm going to do what's good for my career, and good business. Good business is getting you on my side. Good business is you getting a decent check to make sure JC gets a random chair shot to the neck next show. Good business is us aligning to make sure that we're not taken advantage of in the churning alliances that our corporate connivers make and break daily.'

A sharp chopping motion from one hand ends his thought, as he steps toward the camera.

'However, my career demands that I maintain my unstoppable path to the top. So from the moment the bell rings to start the match, to the moment it rings to end it, I want you to take that and put it aside. Don't take it personally. Take it as the reason why I'll be the World Champ and you'll be Legacy or Anarchy X Champ in our little alliance. The moment my music plays for the second time, Drake, it could be the start of a brutal feud between us, if you want to take it to heart. It could also be the start of you becoming something so much more than Okuma or Nick James in this federation. That would be good for my career, and good business, when we can stand in the ring, covered in gold, proclaiming together to anyone who steps in the ring before us...that I'm better than you.'