We clip to the backstage area, where reigning International champion stands in one of his many tailored suits. His back is against the peeling eggshell-white wall, with a platinum Movado drooping from his wrist and a pair of capped Oxfords scrapping against one of the poorly camouflaged cement blocks that make up most of the arena's infrastructure. The oxblood shoes, recently purchased from Givenchy, slide against the abrasive surface of the wall as their owner flicks his Christian Lacroix tie. He speaks into his Black Diamond, one of the most expensive mobile phones on the market. What it lacks in the over-the-top jewelry of its cohorts it more than makes up for in state-of-the-art technology. Sony did a fine job on this device, a shame that other Ericsson's are pure garbage.

Thomas Driver: You know I've been meaning to call, but I haven't had time to put my numbers in this thing.

The Soprani suit is certainly a bit more colorful than one would expect of the champion, but somehow Luciano is able to make a maroon-beige come off tastefully. Considering you can only get these pieces in Sante Fe, it seems Thomas Driver may have gone on a little spending spree with his Revolution paycheck. But the suit is essential, it completes the look.

Thomas Driver: Look babe, I know you and Valentino are close but I've already given that man enough of my money. He concentrates too much on the SpA line and it's time we as a society moved on from late 70's fashion.

He paces around, his eyes rolling as he continues to the conversation. It's not that he feels trapped in this call but that moving his brow gives him something to do as his interlocutor speaks.

Thomas Driver: I mean no disrespect, but the man sold his own company over a decade ago. How can I trust what they're producing if the man behind it had so little faith?

The voice from the phone begins shrieking, causing some tension if it weren't for the obnoxious laugh coming from the other end. Thomas smirks at that remark until he turns to see a familiar face; Daydream. The warrior is not only his At Horizon's End cohort, but number one contender for the championship atop the athlete's shoulder.

Thomas Driver: Alright, I've got to go.

A woman on the other line keeps chatting, her voice getting through until Thomas clicks a button to end the call.

Thomas Driver: Daydream, a pleasure to see you. How are you doing?

Daydream: Am I...

Thomas Driver: Interrupting? Of course not. I was on the phone with Inaara, great gal.

Daydream: Oh? Uh... who?

Thomas Driver: My apologies. You know her is the Begum Aga Khan, how silly of me.

Daydream: Still no idea who you're talking about.

Thomas Driver: Really? Well she's a major player in Berlin and Munich, throws a great party but that's beside the point. Wife of a powerful Shia... nevermind.

The number one contender looks confused, not sure what his friend is going on about.

Thomas Driver: Look, I'm glad you came here.

Daydream: Are you?

Thomas Driver: Yes, I thought I'd be the first to congratulate you on winning yourself a title match. Which belt are you going for?

Daydream: Actually Gunnar had a little thing for me, but you weren't ther... wait, what? I'm going for the International title.

Thomas Driver: Oh right, of course. How could I forget?

Daydream: You haven't been around, not really sure.

Thomas Driver: You see, the guys have been talking about us. About At Horizon's End and how they think we're at each other's throats.

Thomas places his arm around his future challenger's shoulder, walking with away from the wall and toward one of the many locker rooms that pocket the arena's hallway. The two come to a halt whenever the champion finds a need to inflect a bit.

Thomas Driver: Neither would I, they don't seem to understand competitive friendship. I smash in Gunnar's face with a chair, you slap around Blaze for a few minutes... it's all in good sportsmanship. Am I right?

Daydream: Yeah, of course.

The technician nods, pleased by Daydream agreeing with him. They then continue walking along, with Thomas sure to keep his Virginian stablemate close by.

Thomas Driver: Well as I'm sure you're aware, we're going to meet for my belt at Clash of the Titans. Never liked the film personally, but I guess it makes due if you haven't read the myth of Perseus. You do know some Latin or Greek, right?

Daydream: No, not really.

Thomas Driver: Oh... how... uncouth. Well, never mind. I'm sure you saw that new one with nudity in it. But before we meet it seems management has let Joseph run around with his own little pay-per-view.

Daydream: Joseph? You mean NOX?

Thomas Driver: Well I thought as a show of unity amongst two spectacular athletes, I talked to our dear Undisputed champion for a tag match. It'll be you and myself taking on the very men who took the tag belts from you.

Daydream: Oh? Sounds intriguing.

This idea interests the former tag champion, Daydream thinking about it as his fellow At Horizon's End associate blabs on.

Thomas Driver: Yes, and if we win we'll be contenders for the tag championships. Think of it, we'll bring those belts back to At Horizon's End.

Daydream: On the same night our match is planned? That's sort of odd timing.

Thomas Driver: I suppose so, but that practically guarantees we'll walk out of Greece with some gold.

Daydream: If we can beat STK OUT and the Black Suit Outlaws.

Thomas Driver: Yes, true... but I'm sure...

Their conversation is stopped by a light polyphonic beat, Thomas' Sony Ericsson going off. He takes his arm off of Daydream's shoulder.

Thomas Driver: My apologies, one moment.

Holding up one finger seems to do the job, Thomas allowed to talk as his pal remains quiet.

Thomas Driver: Hello, Farah? How are you? It's been so long your Majesty. How are things?

Some muttering can be heard on the other end.

Thomas Driver: I don't care what backwards dictator in Iran exiled you, you'll always be your Majesty to me doll.

The Patron Saint leans his head back as Farah goes on.

Thomas Driver: Oh, I don't know if I can make that. You know I love your Islamic art expos but I think I'll be busy that night.

Daydream tries to bring the athlete back into their discussion, giving a small cough.

Thomas Driver: Well of course I'll contribute, it's a good cause I'm sure.

Daydream: Tommy.

Thomas Driver: Oh no, don't tell me about the thing. It'll bore me to death. I'm sure it's the same-old, children without legs or water or something.

Daydream: Uh... Tommy.

Thomas Driver: I'll send you a blank check, you give those villagers their pigs or whatever.

Daydream: The hell?

Thomas Driver: Oh? I thought only the Jews couldn't eat that stuff.

The so-called Psycho Killer tries to hush his compatriot, going back to his conversation.

Thomas Driver: Oh right... yes. I really do need to look up these cute little customs over there.

When Daydream starts to exit the scene, Thomas Driver appears to get the message.

Thomas Driver: Babe, I'm going to have to let you go. We'll talk. Bye darling.

Daydream: Done?

Thomas Driver: So... where was I? Oh yes, I'm sure we'll recover by the time our match starts. I don't expect it to interfere. All you have to do is be there and we can enjoy these golden years for a while.

The phone begins ringing once again, rattling in its owner's hand for the third time in these last few minutes.

Thomas Driver: Look, this is a bad time. I'll see you in Greece, ta leme!

The Patron Saint flips open the Ericsson before walking down the hallway, leaving his teammate alone with only a silent cameraman to keep him company. We can hear the New Yorker chuckle at the joke of some unheard socialite, obviously forcing himself to laugh in order to appease one of his many acquaintances. There seems nothing left for Daydream here but shake off that half-assed conversation with a partner, and future, opponent.