Chez Nous

MAY 23RD, 2025 (DAY OF REVIVAL 69)

YWG Airport - Winnipeg, MB | 2:02 AM

Luc Labelle can’t wait to get the fuck out of Manitoba. 

He’s new enough to PRIME that he doesn’t get free flights to shows that he isn’t booked on, so instead of going back home to Montreal after ReVival 67, or heading over to Ottawa for ReVival 68, he has spent the past two weeks rotting away in his least favourite kind of place: an English-speaking province.

Terrible poutine. Getting weird looks when he speaks in French over the phone. Jets fans. It’s Hell.

Luckily, he’s finally on his flight back home. A small connection through Toronto and he’s back in paradise, and he gets to wrestle in front of his hometown.

He’s about to slip on his sleep mask, but he notices a familiar flash of colour in the corner of his eye. The woman next to him is watching PRIME highlights on her phone and taking notes. She looks to be about his age, brown-haired and covered in patchwork tattoos. 

Luc has two thoughts. First of all, the in-flight WiFi must have been EXPENSIVE. And second of all, he wants to talk to her.

Luc: You visiting Montreal?

She pauses the clip and turns her head. 

Woman: Well, kinda. I’m from there, but I don’t get to spend that much time there. I was in town for Blue Bombers training camp, had to write a story on it.

Luc: You’re a sportswriter? Have I read any of your stuff?

Woman: Does Dahlia Duquette ring a bell?

Luc: Yeah, I think I’ve read some of your stuff!

He’s lying his ass off.

Luc: You know, if you fast-forward through those highlights, you’ll see me. I’m Luc Labelle.

He always feels so awkward introducing himself.

Dahlia: Oh shit, means I’ll see your match tonight! Labelle, you said? You must be from Montreal too, right?

Luc: Yeah, this was pretty much my first time leaving. Not too used to the travelling part of it.

She chuckles, which Luc finds strange because he didn’t make a joke.

Dahlia: Well, luckily for you, I’m WAY TOO used to the travelling part of this, so I’ll show you a few tips when we land.

*************************************

YYZ Airport - Toronto, ON | 4:40 AM 

Dahlia’s travel tips are right up Luc’s alley. When they get off the plane, she leads him right to the duty-free shop and buys a large bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. They sit in the waiting area and drink and talk way too loudly for 5 AM, garnering the ire of the red-eyed businessmen miserably lounging near them.

Eventually, Dahlia drunkenly fumbles through her luggage.

Dahlia: I wanna try something, hold on.

She lifts out an entire tarot card set, and Luc scoffs.

Luc: Come on, do you really believe in that shit?

Dahlia: I believe that it’s fun! Don’t be a bitch about it, come on!

Luc does not want to fumble, so he lets her draw his cards.

Dahlia: The Tower, in future position.

Luc: What’s that mean?

Dahlia: Sudden upheaval. Your ego leading you to a grand collapse somewhere in your future.

Luc is drunk enough that he suddenly feels worried.

Luc: Does a few seconds from now count as the future?

Dahlia: (shrugging) I’m not the cards, don’t ask me. You wanna draw cards for me?

Luc: Actually, I do palm readings. Wanna try?

Dahlia sticks her hand out. Luc Labelle is about to try the lamest line he’s ever attempted.

Luc: (slurring his words) Hmmmmm…says here that in the very near future, you’re gonna give me your number!

Dahlia laughs WAY too loudly for an airport, enough that an attendant making an announcement stumbles over her words. Luc doesn’t know if that’s a good thing for a bad thing.

Dahlia: (Still laughing) Tell you what. Win your match, and then we’ll talk.

Luc: Deal.

They shake hands, and immediately keep drinking.

**************************************

YUL Airport - Montreal, QC | 6:54 AM

Luc wakes up, still tipsy. He’s spent his whole life in Montreal, but never like this. Sprawling skyscrapers and glistening waters, Mount Royal dotted with orange and green. He wonders about every light he sees. The story behind each one. He wonders if anybody he knows are in any of the tiny cars he sees darting along the highways, he wonders if anybody realizes that someone in the sky is watching them.

He looks to his side, and Dahlia is asleep on his shoulder. Accidental, he’s sure. But still.

God, does he ever wanna win.

************************************

Bell Centre - Montreal, QC | 3:44 PM

Despite twenty years spent within city limits, this is only the second time that Luc Labelle has been to the Bell Centre. Expensive tickets in a glitzy, busy part of town? Not exactly affordable. He had heard tales about how passionate sports fans were in Montreal, the way that local athletes were treated like gods in years past, and it always sounded so far removed from his own reality.

That’s why it weirds him out a little bit that even though he’s only had one match in PRIME, there are throngs of locals waiting for him as he walks up to the entrance, adorned in Habs jerseys and Expos caps, some with signs. They’re chanting, and it takes the Montreal-Nord native a moment to realize what they’re yelling.

“Luc La-Belle! Luc La-Belle! Luc La-Belle!”

This city sure does love its own. Michel, loyally at his brother’s side carrying bags, nudges him proudly.

A fluffy-haired youth in a Supreme hoodie shoves his way through the mass of humanity with a clip mic and a cameraman, flagging Labelle down.

Fluffy Hair: Luc, can we ask you a few questions my man?

The kid must only be a few years younger than Luc, and yet Labelle still feels a bizarre sort of disgust. This guy is addressing him as a peer? Who the fuck is he?

Luc: “Sure, go ahead.”

FH: So, you’re a proud Montrealer. How does it feel to be back home?

Luc looks around at the fans surrounding him. This is his city, but it doesn’t exactly feel like home.

Luc: I’m very happy to be a Montrealer, and I’m very glad that I get to stop here before going on the road. There’s no city in the world like it. Today, I’ve gotten to see a side of it that I’ve never seen before. For the first time, I go to the store and people recognize me. For the first time, I walk down the street and I get asked for autographs. For the first time, I’m SOMEBODY.

It makes me fucking sick.

Today, I saw what this city could be for everybody, not just people that “matter”. Hockey players and musicians and actors get invited to fancy restaurants, and the rest of us get treated like bums at the Montreal Pool Room! Last month, I got thrown out of a McDonalds in Côte-des-Neiges for looking like a bum, but all of a sudden, today I’m a person? Fuck that! Fuck you!

Tell me, how many times have you been to the Bell Centre this year?

The crowd’s attitude has become sullen, and the young man holding the microphone looks a little bit flustered.

FH: Uhhh…I don’t know, like ten?

Luc: Ten? Ten! This is my SECOND, and the first time was because I won some bullshit class raffle to see Disney on Ice! I love the Habs, you think I’ve had a chance to see them? Think I’ve been able to see any concerts? Fuck no, man. Ticket prices are too high, because they’re trying to attract bullshit influencers like you, they’re trying to cater to rich drunks with nothing better to do. You guys are NOT the real face of Montreal, I AM! I’m from the gutter, and it makes you guys too uncomfortable to look at the gutter most of the time. Now, you have no choice. I’m going to win too much for you to write me off, and I’m going to force you to realize that despite your 514 area codes, your “I Heart MTL” keychains, and your Osheaga pre-sale tickets, you aren’t half as much of a Montrealer as me!

The fluffy haired interviewer seems to experience a half-second of introspection. Then, he snaps back into question-asking mode.

FH: Strong words man, strong words. How do you feel about your opponent tonight, Steve Lemieux?

Luc: Don’t fuckin’ like him. You know, at first, I was excited at the fact that in my hometown, I got booked to face a fellow Quebecer. Turns out this son of a bitch is from Peoria! How the fuck does a Lemieux end up in Peoria!

Still, it OFFENDS me that a name like that ended up on a man like him. That’s a name with history behind it, legendary hockey players and artists. Hell, his name literally translates to “The Best”! Does that guy seem like the best to you? Fuck no! Useless sack of shit working at a sandwich shop, bumblefucking his way into a PRIME ring. I got here because I fought for it, because the brass saw clips of me knocking motherfuckers out! How did Steve get noticed? Did they see a clip of him putting turkey on rye and think “we gotta have him”?

However, there’s one thing that I DO like about the guy. Enthusiasm. He’s excited to be here! The guy can’t wrestle his way out of a phone booth, but goddamn it, is he ever chipper!

I see something in him that tells me that maybe one day, with a hell of a lot of effort, he could win a match one day. I certainly don’t think it will be tonight, but hey, practice makes perfect. And so, I’m on a mission.

I’m here to be somewhat of a cleanser. I will rid this city of the filthy, elitist mindset that it carries, and I’ll make EVERY street feel like home, not just the street I grew up on. And tonight, I will baptize Steve Lemieux in fire. I will purify him with blood, I’m gonna show him what it’s like to be in a real, honest, violent fight.

I’m going to hurt the sandwich maker, and I’m gonna hurt him badly. And if he learns to like it, if he takes his lumps, then he’s a tough motherfucker and he’s got a future here. If not, then he can fuck off back to Peoria.

FH: Alright, thanks for your time Mr. Labe-

Luc Labelle has already walked away, not bothering to hear the rest of the influencer’s spiel. Michel shakes his head incredulously.

Michel: You’re one miserable son of a bitch, man.

Luc nods.

Luc: Yeah man, I know. Who knows, maybe tomorrow I won’t be.

He’s never wanted to win a fight more.