Ben Jackman stands on one of the great many second floor balconies lining Bourbon Street. Jackman is positively beaming, several strands of beads hang around Jackman's neck as he stares out into the sea of humanity below him. Jackman reaches into one of the boxes scattered around his feet and tosses a handful of red beads into the crowd below. The crowd roars its approval as several women rip there shirts and blouses open revealing their breats. Jackman smiles contentedly, his eyes still scanning slowly through the crowd. A woman walks out onto the balcony behind Jackman and hands him a highball glass. Jackman nods his thanks and turns back to the crowd below pulling his glass of rum and coke to his lips. "Ah...Mardi Gras. The great relaxer. Every single year I come down here, and every year it sets me straight. This is one of those places where you can completely forget about all the problems of the outside world and just fucking party. Its good for the soul." Jackman takes another sip of his drink rolling his toungue over his lips. "The only place on earth that is about absolutely nothing more than the good time to be had by one and all. Where else can you find a twenty-four hour block party that never even begins to show any signs of even the smallest crowd loss?" Jackman pauses as if waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. "Where else can you see a pair of tits for nothing more than a strand of cheap ass beads?" Jackman smiles broadly before continuing. "No-fucking-where. Nowhere but right here in the French Quarter. Nowhere but right here in New Orleans." Jackman takes another quick drink from his glass before turning his back to the crowd below, and leaning against the balcony rail. His eyes narrow slightly as he turns around. "Nowhere but right here in Kyle Darkbriar's backyard." Jackman takes another long drink, draining his glass he sets it aside. "Where are you, bitch? I'm right here waiting. You've got my full undivided, Kyle. You got what you think you wanted. Stupid motherfucker, if you only knew how deep the shit you just stepped in was." Jackman holds his glass up toward the inside of the building, shaking the half-melted ice around his empty glass. The woman returns to the balcony and takes his glass inside to refill it. "Kyle..where are you, Kyle? Can't say I expected to see you here. God knows you're too hardcore for Mardi Gras." Jackman rolls his eyes. "What a crock of shit. Hardcore...bah. Seems someone who thinks he's as talented as you seem to think you are wouldn't need a flaming kendo stick to get the job done. But then to each his own, you pathetic fucking shitstain. You are so fucked, and you don't even have the slightest inkling of what you're in for. It'd be beautiful if it weren't so goddamn sad, but I guess its true what they say. Ignorance is bliss, and you're the happiest motherfucker on the planet...for now." Jackman clears his throat as the woman returns again this time with a full glass. Jackman again nods his thanks and she goes back inside. "This Sunday...its me and you, Kyle. The particulars of the match are secondary at the moment. This Sunday I get my hands on your sorry ass again, and then as if that weren't enough to get me motivated, the booking commitee decides to throw me another bone. This Sunday, its Ben Jackman versus Kyle Darkbriar versus..." Jackman pauses a huge smile spreading across his face. "J.D. Ice...for the SHOOT Project Iron Fist Championship. This is to the best of my knowledge the first EVER Three way dance for the Iron Fist Title and who better to grace the ring for such an event...well with you being the obvious exception Darkbriar. You're out of your league, and I hope to God you realize it. But then again, you're ignorance has carried you this far, why not just a litle farther? Two of the GREATEST Iron Fist Champions versus The Iron Fist Title's Number One Pretender. What a match...What a night." Jackman bellows with laughter, taking a quick drink from his glass. "This is your chance, Kyle. This is your chance to prove that you should've been handed the Iron Fist Title, and this is J.D. and my chance to prove to everyone else in the world that suffers from the same delusions as you that you are in fact not anywhere near Iron Fist caliber. Do you hear me, Kyle? You couldn't cut the mustard even if you got your shot, and I'm just glad you didn't get the chance to sully the title I hold closest to my own heart with your dirty little mitts." Jackman takes a drink, looking back over his shoulder at the crowd constantly moving below him. "But do me one favor, Kyle. Should you finally realize what the fuck is going on sometime this week. Should you finally find just the shoehorn to get your head out of your ass. Should you actually regain some semblance of sanity and realize you don't have a chance on Sunday, bring your ass to the ring anway. I'd take pleasure in beating the living shit out of you in front of all the wrestling fans in Cleveland." Jackman takes anothe drink from his glass, his stony glare softening. "Which brings me to J.D. Ice. You know I got nothing but respect for you, bro. You did something that a great many people, myself included thought was impossible. You knocked my ass out...cold. I don't care what happens on Sunday night, you've still done the near impossible and for that you should be recognized as one of if not THE Greatest Iron Fist Champion of all time. It's a damn shame that we can't both be the Greatest." Jackman smiles, a hint of laughter at the edge of his voice. "So believe me Ice. I know you're gonna be there on Sunday night, and I for one am looking forward to it. So that leaves us with nothing to do but prove to ourselves, each other, and every one of the fans in Cleveland who the better man really is." Jackman laughs. "And Darkbriar...that leaves you with nothing to do but get your fucking ass kicked, your head ripped off your shoulders, and your ego shattered by the BEST. I hope that isn't too much of a load for you to shoulder." Jackman turns back to the crowd below him, standing stalk still his eyes again scanning over the people lining Bourbon Street. "This Sunday, Darkbriar, your ass belongs to me." FADE.