Long Live The King
Dec 4, 2019 23:06:53 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Dec 4, 2019 23:06:53 GMT -5
LOCATION: Plano, Texas
DATE/TIME: June 1, 2004
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
FAT MOE'S WAS THE NAME OF THE DIVE, the logo on the sign featuring a bloated cartoon version of Moe Szyslak from The Simpsons— copyright be damned. At this hour, the bar was nearly deserted, only a few old men lingered at the front, playing pool and laughing loudly, their words lost under the noise of the piped-in top 40's radio, and the random squeak of the fans turning lazily overhead. The air was chilly, but Larry Gowan, the former jobber king, was sweating bullets all by his lonesome at the bar. Pyro shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out a handful of quarters before feeding them into the jukebox one by one.
"Look at him, Slava." He murmured, nudging the mountain of a man in the ribs in an attempt to pry his attention from flipping through the selections. "So cocky. Such a piece of shit," he turned his head, miming spitting on the floor.
Enigma grunted, thick fingers happily pushing the numbers so that a moment later, Donna Summer's empowerment anthem flooded the speakers.
"Thinks he can come in here like he still belongs? Drink our liquor… sit at our bar…."
"He is one of us." Enigma murmured in his soft and heavily accented voice, "a championship does not change-"
"You don't get it, you big dummy." Pyro seethed, smiling politely at the waitress as she arrived with a little tray covered in shot glasses. He handed off some folded bills, urging her to keep the change before making his way towards where the WCWF World Heavyweight Champion sat staring at a full bottle of Budweiser.
"Drink up, Champ!" The hand that slapped him on the back was a surprise, but the face that followed wasn't. Pyro stood there, sporting a wide grin that was barely visible behind his mask— in the poor light, his eyes were hidden in the dark eyeholes of the mask, foreboding. Enigma stood behind him, looking slightly intimidating if not for the sunny grin on his face as his lips moved to the song he'd chosen.
"Come to pay your respects?" Gowan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Don't bother. I don't…"
"But of course!" Pyro crowed, jovial as he started to unload the tray, setting a shot of black sambucca on the bar in front of Gowan. "You haven't forgotten the little guys now that you're on top, have you?"
"Nah," he gestured for them to join him, "I'd never forget you guys. You're the foundation—"
"How does it feel?" Enigma murmured, plopping down on the stool beside Gowan, earning himself a dagger glare from his partner, "to win a main event, Pianoman. How does it feel?"
Gowan looked down at the bar top, and then back at Enigma, misery evident in his eyes. "Shitty."
"I don't get you... isn't this what you always wanted? Wasn't this your dream, the mantra you used to preach to us? That one day we could be better than the sewer, than the curtain jerker?" Pyro couldn't keep the disdain from his voice, "if you don't want this glory, this… this opportunity, I am sure there are others who would appreciate it."
Gowan shrugged, tightening his grip around the bottle. The muscles in his arms and chest tensed, betraying the subtle changes. "I like to rain on parades, especially my own."
"Maybe you don't belong here." Pyro leaned in closer, his hand closing over Gowan's arm. He was expecting a protest, some sort of friction. Instead Gowan nodded.
"You're right. I don't. And if Shawn hadn't been killed, I wouldn't be." He finally lifted the bottle, slowly bringing it towards his lips. "Listen, there's no joy in this, okay?"
"We are sorry about your brother," Enigma muttered, patting him on the shoulder.
"Don't want your pity," Gowan paused, taking a small sip of the beer, grimacing in distaste after swallowing. He sat there for a few seconds, and then spoke again, his voice seeming strained. "God, that tastes like shit!"
The second expletive passing his lips made The Ring Crew exchange a look before Enigma spoke again. "Pianoman... maybe—"
"I'm fine."
"Sure, man," Pyro said quickly, "you've never looked better... that match, was easily a contender for match of the year! You took everything Duke had to throw at you and outlasted him... that counts for a hell of a lot more than anything else. I mean, dude... you beat Nathanial DUKE! How many others can say that... besides Dane Rennier. I don't think there's—"
Gowan's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. "Do. Not. EVER. Compare. Me. To. Dane." A finger poked at Pyro to emphasize each word. "Duke did not job to me... Dane's win was a fluke... Duke was distracted... his daughter had been hurt... hell, that shouldn't have even counted. I earned my win... unlike that worthless little ass-kisser!"
Pyro nodded, nudging the shot of liquor closer to Gowan who reluctantly picked it up. "I'll drink to that!"
"Sure, why not?"
"Maybe you…" Enigma's voice was drowned out by a loud whoop as Pyro downed his shot and slammed the glass on the bar.
"Long live the King!" Pyro shouted.
"Oh, no. I'm not," Gowan protested.
"I know," Pyro murmured, his tone as cold as ice as Enigma hooked Gowan's arms from behind. He drove his fist into the former jobber's face, snapping his head back to collide with Enigma's barrel chest. "I am."
DATE/TIME: June 1, 2004
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
FAT MOE'S WAS THE NAME OF THE DIVE, the logo on the sign featuring a bloated cartoon version of Moe Szyslak from The Simpsons— copyright be damned. At this hour, the bar was nearly deserted, only a few old men lingered at the front, playing pool and laughing loudly, their words lost under the noise of the piped-in top 40's radio, and the random squeak of the fans turning lazily overhead. The air was chilly, but Larry Gowan, the former jobber king, was sweating bullets all by his lonesome at the bar. Pyro shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out a handful of quarters before feeding them into the jukebox one by one.
"Look at him, Slava." He murmured, nudging the mountain of a man in the ribs in an attempt to pry his attention from flipping through the selections. "So cocky. Such a piece of shit," he turned his head, miming spitting on the floor.
Enigma grunted, thick fingers happily pushing the numbers so that a moment later, Donna Summer's empowerment anthem flooded the speakers.
"Thinks he can come in here like he still belongs? Drink our liquor… sit at our bar…."
"He is one of us." Enigma murmured in his soft and heavily accented voice, "a championship does not change-"
"You don't get it, you big dummy." Pyro seethed, smiling politely at the waitress as she arrived with a little tray covered in shot glasses. He handed off some folded bills, urging her to keep the change before making his way towards where the WCWF World Heavyweight Champion sat staring at a full bottle of Budweiser.
"Drink up, Champ!" The hand that slapped him on the back was a surprise, but the face that followed wasn't. Pyro stood there, sporting a wide grin that was barely visible behind his mask— in the poor light, his eyes were hidden in the dark eyeholes of the mask, foreboding. Enigma stood behind him, looking slightly intimidating if not for the sunny grin on his face as his lips moved to the song he'd chosen.
"Come to pay your respects?" Gowan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Don't bother. I don't…"
"But of course!" Pyro crowed, jovial as he started to unload the tray, setting a shot of black sambucca on the bar in front of Gowan. "You haven't forgotten the little guys now that you're on top, have you?"
"Nah," he gestured for them to join him, "I'd never forget you guys. You're the foundation—"
"How does it feel?" Enigma murmured, plopping down on the stool beside Gowan, earning himself a dagger glare from his partner, "to win a main event, Pianoman. How does it feel?"
Gowan looked down at the bar top, and then back at Enigma, misery evident in his eyes. "Shitty."
"I don't get you... isn't this what you always wanted? Wasn't this your dream, the mantra you used to preach to us? That one day we could be better than the sewer, than the curtain jerker?" Pyro couldn't keep the disdain from his voice, "if you don't want this glory, this… this opportunity, I am sure there are others who would appreciate it."
Gowan shrugged, tightening his grip around the bottle. The muscles in his arms and chest tensed, betraying the subtle changes. "I like to rain on parades, especially my own."
"Maybe you don't belong here." Pyro leaned in closer, his hand closing over Gowan's arm. He was expecting a protest, some sort of friction. Instead Gowan nodded.
"You're right. I don't. And if Shawn hadn't been killed, I wouldn't be." He finally lifted the bottle, slowly bringing it towards his lips. "Listen, there's no joy in this, okay?"
"We are sorry about your brother," Enigma muttered, patting him on the shoulder.
"Don't want your pity," Gowan paused, taking a small sip of the beer, grimacing in distaste after swallowing. He sat there for a few seconds, and then spoke again, his voice seeming strained. "God, that tastes like shit!"
The second expletive passing his lips made The Ring Crew exchange a look before Enigma spoke again. "Pianoman... maybe—"
"I'm fine."
"Sure, man," Pyro said quickly, "you've never looked better... that match, was easily a contender for match of the year! You took everything Duke had to throw at you and outlasted him... that counts for a hell of a lot more than anything else. I mean, dude... you beat Nathanial DUKE! How many others can say that... besides Dane Rennier. I don't think there's—"
Gowan's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. "Do. Not. EVER. Compare. Me. To. Dane." A finger poked at Pyro to emphasize each word. "Duke did not job to me... Dane's win was a fluke... Duke was distracted... his daughter had been hurt... hell, that shouldn't have even counted. I earned my win... unlike that worthless little ass-kisser!"
Pyro nodded, nudging the shot of liquor closer to Gowan who reluctantly picked it up. "I'll drink to that!"
"Sure, why not?"
"Maybe you…" Enigma's voice was drowned out by a loud whoop as Pyro downed his shot and slammed the glass on the bar.
"Long live the King!" Pyro shouted.
"Oh, no. I'm not," Gowan protested.
"I know," Pyro murmured, his tone as cold as ice as Enigma hooked Gowan's arms from behind. He drove his fist into the former jobber's face, snapping his head back to collide with Enigma's barrel chest. "I am."
