[Rows and rows of liquor. Or so it seems; a mirrored wall creates the illusion of an endless supply of cognac, rum, triple sec, vermouth, ouzo, any and every liquor type imaginable arranged by colors and location. The optical illusion ruined when a hand grabs a bottle of Woodford's Reserve.]

[As Edward White pours whiskey over ice and water he begins to speak, quietly and slowly, the opposite of his feverish rant from earlier.]

"You know... I should have expected this.

"Admittedly, I gave too much credit to a man who just recently learned the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground. I thought we could have a civilized conversation about the way things were going to be. But yet again, I heard the enchanting twang of a redneck missing out on the obvious in favor of his own voice and the moronic ranting that only an excessive amount of moonshine can create.

"Of course, I speak of Jimmy "White Hat" Kort."

[White fixes his mustache and beard after muttering his name.]

"Kort, we've been down this route before. 

"In all my years of professional wrestling, I've seldom met a man who possess such wit but lacks the capacity to actually deliver on the set up. I was concerned when you brought out the bottle of Boone's Farm, The 7/11 Hobo Wine Special. Which if memory serves me correctly from my time living in a Winnebago -- is hardly wine and more approachable to malt liquor. 

"Perhaps you would allude to the fickle nature of wine tasting, how most experts can't decipher between vineyards in a double blind testing, how a bottle of two buck chuck can beat out a vintage from Chateau LaTour, how maybe, just maybe, a low some hick such as yourself could edge out a billionaire with more than plenty resources."

[He pauses and frowns.]

"Unfortunately, you didn't do that. You insist upon discussions of War. Terrorists, Good Ol' Boys giving their lives for freedom and politics.

"I'll tell you Kort, you're about as dumb as you look with your goofy looking white cowboy hat."

[Edward White grins as he takes a sip off of the moderately priced whiskey.]

"By the way, how do you keep that white cowboy hat so PUUURDY?

"It seems to me Jimmy, that you wouldn't know the first goddamn thing about war, about good ol' boys, about bloodshed, about heartache, about suffering. And I mean the REAL suffering, not some pissant scuffing your rattlesnake boots or accidentally scratching your candy apple red pickup truck when you two are buying okra down at the piggly wiggly.

"I refer to the suffering one can only truly experience by being in the front line, being maimed, bloodied and double crossed by people you once thought were your friends.

"And you want to talk down to me about wine?"

[He begins to laugh quietly.]

"It's funny. You lecture about patriotism when you probably fly the Stars and Bars and call it Heritage. You really don't have a clue how treasonous you really are? You're an inexperienced, bumbling and simple minded dolt.

"You make Sam Turner Jr. look like Einstein in comparison. You open your mouth and noise comes out. Daft Noise. At least when he speaks, he speaks with purpose, heart and best of all, for reason.

"This... This is why Aleco Dentari is your Team Captain."

[White spins the drink in his hand, ice chattering on the sides.]

"Never mind all these points he's accrued over time. Out of the four of you, he is the one with the most intelligence. While we'll never agree on who will win this match, he knows that you're cannon fodder. You'll be the first to go in this match -- because you got lucky. 

"He knows it, I know, even our fourth unknown partner knows it. Your lucky day was when you tossed the last wrestler over the top rope. But it comes to an end in a match where skills and experience come into play.

"You have none.

"Well, of course comparing yourself to Christian Light and myself... we're both former World Heavyweight Champions. We've been to the top of the summit. We've wrestled in different countries. And likely, Mr. Light unintentionally destroyed dreams in his conquests, in the very same ways that I have also done.

"Let me remind you Jimmy... the best you've ever been is second fiddle. And in some cases, you're not even in the band. I've made sure of that in the past. Remember Season 3? Remember our four way dance with Jake Donavon and Angel of Death...

"Hell. Remember Chris Cannon? He even defeated you." 

[A sip from his bourbon and branch.]

"See, Aleco is no dummy. He's a mastermind, he's had this planned from the beginning. You're going to go out to the cage first and have your teeth kicked down your throat until he comes out fresh as a daisy to pick up the pieces...

"And why shouldn't he? You're dumb enough to go along with the plan. 

"He essentially commands a bunch of mindless idiots that have bought into the notion that they might win... if they work hard enough, if they're good ol' boys fighting his war. 

"Christian Light, Claira St. Sure and myself... we know the name of the game. We know that everyone is in it for themselves. We know that from experience. 

"Maybe you'll find that out, maybe you won't. 

"But I can tell you one thing... you can't come talking to me about sour grapes or even sour mash...."

[Edward White chuckles to himself staring into a now empty glass.]

"Because you'll be spent."

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