Nathan woke up and grunted as pain shot through his body.  He rolled over and forced his body to get out of bed.  Nathan did a few stretches, muttering under his breath.  “Och.. god damn you, Valora.. Fuck’s sake.. I hurt in places I feckin’ forgot I had…”

 

This was the part Valora was off target on.  She was right.  Nathan did enjoy the violence of hardcore matches.  There was a reason the angel of death had partnered with him, after all.  What Nathan did not enjoy, however…

 

Was the aftermath.

 

It had been a nuisance in his younger days when he recovered a lot quicker.  Now, he was older.  His body took longer to heal.  

 

“There are ways to deal with that, Nathaniel.”  Daniel said, as he read Nathan’s mind and stood, leaning shoulder first against the wall as Nathan made his way to the bathroom.  “Aye.  So ya keep sayin’.”  Nathan began.  “But I also thought you said that you weren’t an angel that did healing.”  Daniel rolled his eyes and shook his head letting out a sigh.  “I’m the Angel of Death.  I can’t heal.  But I am an angel, I recover from wounds supernaturally quickly.  As my host, you get that ability too.. Or have you never wondered why you aren’t crippled by now?”

 

Nathan poked his head out from the shower and nodded.  “How do you share it then?  Is there something I need to do?”  Daniel nodded.  “I believe you mortals refer to it as ‘carbing up.’  Eat a lot of food.  Protein especially.  Your body will need the energy.  I’m curious.  Your initial plan was to end the match quickly.  Yet you kept fighting.”

 

Nathan shrugged.  “I’m Irish.  We’re stubborn feckers.  Besides, Valora has fought me too many times.  She’d know if I phoned it in and she would never forgive me.  And she is vindictive enough to potentially make Fi pay for that as well.”  Daniel nodded.  “Makes sense.  Do you have a plan for this fairly racist and stereotypical Elite title defense?”

 

Nathan enjoyed the shower in silence for a few moments, the hot water feeling good on his battered body and finally nodded.  “I finally earned my first title here in CWF.  I ain’t ready to surrender the title.  Especially to that feckin mercenary sell out Eoin.  So aye.  I got a plan.”

 

After the shower, Nathan spent the day following Daniel’s suggestion, making sure he was fueling his body as he went about training and preparing for Civil Warfare and the upcoming match against Eoin.  Then, it was time to travel for the first part of his preparations.

 

Promo ‘A lesson for poorly educated mercs’

Boston, Mass.

 

The camera comes into focus and we see Nathan walking down the street in Boston.  He gives a slight smile into the camera as he nods.  “I know.  We’re not fightin’ in Boston yet, but I  decided to take a detour.  Now, Eoin.  I think you musta been educated in the American education system cause damn you’re daft.”

 

The smile disappears from his face as he lets out a disappointed sigh.  “Firstly, ya best find a priest and get right with God, for you’ve borne false witness against thy neighbor.  Because, you daft fecker, I dinnae steal a damned thing from you.  For me to steal this title shot from you would mean you wouldn’t be getting ready for a title match.  Now, try to keep up.  I know I’m strainin’ them 5 brain cells ya got, but try to follow along.  You.  Still. Have.  A title shot.  This means nothing was stolen from you, you ignorant fool.  You were promised a title shot at Civil Warfare.  You’re getting a title shot at Civil Warfare.  It’s just your opponent that changed.  Instead of Greg Salazar, you get me.  Now, throw a tantrum all you want because I got a title shot before you did, but I would think a self proclaimed bounty hunter would understand the concept of professionalism.  My boss came to me and told me I had a title match against Greg Salazar.  I went and fought Greg Salazar because that’s what I’m paid to do.  This time I won.  But no one stole anything from you, so man up, stop whinging and try to be a professional wrestler for once.  I know it’s hard.  You seem to act like you’re a part time wrestler, like you only have to fight when and if you feel like it.  But you’re gonna wanna prepare for this fight because I ain’t plannin’ on makin’ this easy for you.”

 

Nathan turns and walks into an Irish pub and gestures around.  “Spent way too much time as a young lad in places like this..  Been in my fair share of pub room brawls.  I’m sure you have too.  But, unlike you, I’m not spending my time trying to force myself to care for this match by convincin’ myself my opponent somehow wronged me.  I got all I need to fight you.”  Nathan sets the Elite title on the bar and nods.  “I like this here belt.  I plan on keepin’ it.  Bad news for you.  I’m a professional.  I have an agreement with CWF.  I fight who they tell me to, when they schedule me to and they put nice stacks of green monies in me bank account.  I like that too.”  You see, we’re all flawed people here.  Me?  I’m also flawed.  In my case one of my flaws is I’m a competitive bastard who likes to fight.  Oh, and as icing on top of the cake.  I was neutral towards you, but your little whiny bitch fit went and changed that.  Now?  I dunnae like you.  So, that will make it just that much easier for me to beat you within a centimeter of your life.”

 

Nathan takes a look around the pub and nods.  “Gotta thank Val.  Our fight ended up to be good practice for what you and I are comparing to go through.”  Nathan says as he pauses and orders a drink.  As he waits for the drink to come, he looks around.  “Have you finished psyching yourself up yet?  I know I’ve mentioned this before but it really is amazing you fail to grasp the concept of professionalism.  Or maybe tell the good people how I stole your title shot from you when you are preparing to have your title shot.”

 

The drink is set down in front of him and Nathan takes a big drink as he walks through the pub, looking around.  “I mean, you’re getting your title shot and rather than simply trusting your talent.. Ah,  That’s the issue isn’t it?  Perhaps you dunnae trust your talent at all.  You dunnae really have any victories over notable fighters in this fed.  So perhaps you saw Greg Salazar as an easier challenge, though if that is the case you’re as inobservant as ye are daft.  Greg Salazar is a former Conquest Champion, now a former Elite Champion.  And has been a Tag team champion.  By contrast, while I have a long career and a full trophy room, I dunnae have any CWF titles.  At least, until I won the Elite title.  I would have thought you’d be ecstatic as your prospects against me might seem, on paper at least, to be better than having to fight Greg Salazar.  Certainly your wife is in a better position to help you to get ready to fight me than Greg.”

 

Nathan takes another drink and sets the empty glass back on the bar.  “You know, it’s funny.  My best and worst moments happened in a pub.  Met my wife in a pub.  She knocked some sense into me.  Literally.  But that’s Ireland for ya.  Our women are more than willing to take corrective actions when we’re bein’ morons.”

 

Nathan lets out another sigh as he recalls and turns to the camera.  “Not sure what else to say, Eoin.  Our Lord Jesus Christ says to turn the other cheeks,  To forgive our enemies.  Forgiveness?  I can do that.  After I kick the ever living shit out of you, I will happily forgive you.  For your lies.  Your whining bullshit.   Your immature antics of throwing a tantrum because someone got a title shot ahead of you.  I’ll forigive you..”

 

Nathan clenches his fist.  “But I never was any good at the pacifist thing.  Understand, lad.. I’m gonna literally wipe God Damn floor with you.”

 

Nathan winces and sighs, shaking his head as he looks up.  “Forgive me, Father for takin’ thy name in vain and forgive me, Jesus, for I am about to go Old Testament on Eoin’s arse and take his sorry ass out to the pub.  He will walk in but he will leave on a fuckin’ stretcher, I swear to God.”