Though it had been this way for many weeks, Dakari found that the words did not come to him so easily anymore. That he was writing his own life story was untrue, a feeble fabrication forced from him by Jody Monroe upon their meeting in Albany. He hadn't expected her to ask him what he'd been doing until now, about his writing, and as such he threw at her the first thing he could think of. The truth was that he simply wrote that which entered his head, else the words would collect in his mind and stay there. If he didn't let it out somehow then he'd end up with a headache. It had been his therapist's idea at the time to make a note of these thoughts as they came to him in order to determine whether there was any sense to the constant stream of words, or if perhaps some pattern were to emerge from it. Unfortunately it seemed more like a by-product of an excessively active imagination in the young Dakari, as opposed to some kind of celestial communiqué.
At first.
As time went on, Anathkash Dakari gradually collected the information presented to him like a paper-trail of newspaper articles, piecing together what was nothing more than a series of jumbled-up sentences to begin with. He began to notice the same key words crop up repeatedly. A theme. Over the course of many years amidst the nonsense in his head, Anathkash had managed to piece together something that was not only comprehensible but terrifyingly... prophetic. The words meant nothing now, not since what was vaticinated had already occurred, but had Anathkash been able to decipher the messages sooner then it could have been possible to manipulate future events. His therapist had simply explained it away with psychology, telling Dakari that he had subconsciously wanted the words to make sense and, because of this, they formed a connection to what made sense to him at the time.
The only flaw in this logic was that the things that had occurred had not happened to him. These were things he learned of later, much later, with slight variations.
But it was largely accurate.
Of course it wouldn't be precisely accurate, that was impossible; there was so much room for error on his part. Even a few words incorrectly interpreted, taken out of context, even simply misheard – all could've resulted in him being lead utterly astray.
He had, of course, tried to contact the one whom his revelations were directly associated but he was not met with the same enthusiasm for the findings as Anathkash had. In fact, his last attempt at direct contact had not gone well at all... He would have to persevere.
Later.
Dakari had other issues to deal with at present, the most pressing being his trip to Northern Ireland for the Just Wrestling show in Belfast tomorrow. He was set to take on a member of both of the other victorious teams from Thursday night in Croydon, a task most daunting. His memories of All-Star Wrestling were shaky at best; before last week he hadn't wrestled in years and yet when the time came he and his peculiar partner, Grendel, emerged as the winners, despite his lack of confidence and experience. He couldn't remember anything about actually how to wrestle. It was as well that Jody hadn't asked him to demonstrate or even explain something as simple as a Hammerlock, since he couldn't possibly imagine how to do one, much less describe it. How exactly he managed to achieve a win over two established wrestlers when he was a mere clueless "rookie" was beyond him, though Grendel appeared to see something in him that he couldn't.
Maybe he knows...
It wasn't unreasonable of Anathkash to assume that someone else knew something he didn't. His memory recently was a mess; he had completely forgotten years of training in both martial arts as well as having signed up to a wrestling tag-team tournament for a promotion he'd never even heard of. His heart sank when Jody uttered those words, "Have you even seen a Just Wrestling show?" Of course not, he wanted to yell. I've never even heard of Just Wrestling and I can't even explain to myself why I'm here, nevermind you! But, alas, he rarely spoke his mind in such a blunt manner.
The Norfolkline ferry he'd boarded from Birkenhead in Liverpool was a pleasant vessel and seven of the eight hours' estimated crossing time had gone by without incident. It had been difficult to find a quiet place to, well, hide from the other passengers as the ferry was full, at least as far as he could tell. Their presence made him uncomfortable, he was not used to spending extended periods of time with other people, especially those he didn't know.
He was reminded of his experience in Fairfield Halls, as if he could ever forget it. Stepping out from behind the curtain had been the most terrifying moment of all; his music played and he knew at that moment that there was no going back. He couldn't turn away and wash his hands of the whole thing. Fifteen-hundred people! The thought of pushing the curtain aside and making his way to the ring was... traumatic. Anathkash was not a "people person". Whatever posessed him to sign up to a wrestling company was not with him any longer and now he'd been left to deal with the consequences on his own.
But why didn't he challenge it?
Why did he meet with Jody Monroe to finalise his application?
It was obvious that Dakari wanted to do it, otherwise he'd have abandoned the foolish concept before that point. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting on a boat on his way to a country that he was previously happy to accept as a place he'd never visit in his life. Were it not for Just then there would have been no reason for him to ever be here.
Still, the fight had awoken something inside Dakari. Despite his hesitation and unwillingness to participate in the future Just events he was scheduled for, he still had that urge to fight again. Taking out Mercer with his listed finisher, 'Metamorphosis', was exhilarating and impossible to describe, were he asked to try.
The café around him was probably the quietest place on the ferry. There were no private rooms since the crossing was a relatively short one, so isolation was impossible. The upper decks were packed despite the cold air and there was no other place on board that Dakari could lurk in comfort for an extended period of time. The other passengers mostly ignored him, though his unusual appearance attracted more than one glance his way. His pale skin and charcoal hair were an awful contrast, giving him the appearance of a walking corpse. While in London he had bought some new clothes and simply threw away the ones he wore earlier. Now dressed head to foot in black, Dakari found that he drew more attention to himself now than when he wore the scruffy old clothes he had owned. Avoiding contact with anyone was the best way to go about this journey.
The coffee he'd bought to justify his presence in the café had gone cold long ago, forgotten to his apprehension of Thursday's show. So overbearing were his fears that his writing had even taken a back seat to the turmoil in his mind. Maybe wrestling was what he needed. Maybe this was a good experience for him.
He couldn't concentrate long enough to keep a single thought in his head for longer than a few minutes.
He couldn't wait to get off this boat.
He couldn't wait for it to be over.
