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What, ya kiddin' me?
Member No.: 85
Joined: 24-April 08
[The squat, muscular balding man grins. He is a man of many smiles and most of them not the happy type. This is one of those smiles.]
"Call me Vic. I'm retired, I ain't Maelstrom anymore. Ya gonna order a drink?"
[Victor's Pub is a testament to a long and somewhat successful, but mostly long career in wrestling. The pictures on the wall, and projection set devoted to the hundreds of matches he and his closest friends have wrestled over the years tell a tale of a couple decades of pain and blood, glory and agony, long road trips and loose women and a lifetime of bad decisions. The man formerly known as the Human Hellstorm wears an apron behind the stained wood bar, manning the tap and giving his patron that infamous casual stare that would make a statue flinch. Small talk never was his strong suit.]
"Yeah, Guinness if you got it."
"Guinness it is."
"So what happened?"
[The patron, the very picture of young man on the go with his polo shirt and shell necklace looks slightly insistent and slightly hopeful. Obviously a former fan and obviously of the "Come out of retirement!" camp. Maelstrom gives him that look again. This time, it softens after a moment. Some people just don't know any better.]
"Decided 'ta move on is all." [He rattles it off, a practiced speech.] "After a certain age the game just passes ya by. Decided 'ta take what was left of the ol' fire and put it in'ta runnin' a business. Better 'ta bank on the legacy an' keep my dignity."
"Still running the school?"
[This time, he grins in earnest.] "Yeah. Ain't goin' well though. Lots sign up 'cause they wanna be like me. Not a lot got it in 'em. An' they ain't too keen on payin' 'ta have the ol' man show 'em that the first thing about bein' Maelstrom is takin' everything ya can throw at him, and comin' back for more."
[The smile fades a bit.] "Pro'lly for the best." [He taps his temple with a light cackle.] "Doctors say what's gone ain't comin' back. Almost named the place "Punchy's Tavern" but that's already a joint in Pittsburgh."
"You still follow the game at all?"
[The young man motions to the television mounted in the corner opposite the projection.] "Put it to thirteen."
[Maelstrom watches and winces slightly as on the projection, he takes chair shot after chair shot, the crowd is on its feet, a fresh cut is torn wide open on the bridge of his nose as he woozily signals for just one more. The unnamed opponent obliges and he catches the chair, before headbutting it into the man's head. Standing ovation as the man drops.]
[The present-day Maelstrom fingers the scar on the bridge of his nose. No wonder he can't remember half his matches.] "Why?"
"Figure you might want to see it. Nostalgia."
[The channel changes. PWA Violation. He watches and smiles slightly as Jostrodomus apes his way to another victory. Jos always was good for a laugh. Not always in the sense the poor man intended, but still, comedy gold.]
"This on every Sunday?"
[Now comes a recap of the little banter between Daz and Butcher. Maelstrom leans on the counter, riveted to the set.]
"Glad I pointed this out to you?"
"Yep." [The young man looks pointedly at Maelstrom, then down at the near-empty glass of Guinness on the bar.]
[Maelstrom snaps out of his little trip down Memory Lane.] "Oh, hey. Another one on ol' Vic?" [He's never this distracted. Probably for the best it's a slow night.]
"Sounds good, set me up."
[Another beer is poured, and Maelstrom turns back to the set, enraptured. Something stirs deep within the big man, a feeling ignored for years in the name of that silly thing called common sense. What was before a successful enterprise now feels like a cage, what was once written off as something that should be left in the past now beckons irresistibly.]
[On the projection set, the crowd chants "MAEL-STROM! MAEL-STROM! MAEL-STROM".]
"You okay, champ?"
[The bartender looks down and sees two tattered rags in his hands, all that's left of the towel he was going to dry his mugs with. He nonchalantly tosses them into the trash and grabs another towel, giving him his infamous smile.]
"Yeah... yeah. Never better."
The furniture is alive! Run, the coffee table seeks revenge!
Also, keep in mind this is a sample roleplay and I didn't read the stuff already set out for me.
I'll play that instead, it's not far from what I set out here.