Post by Wasp on Dec 11, 2015 22:53:31 GMT -5
Shortly After Trauma 183
In The Parking Lot
“Mr. Grimm sir? Sir? Mr. Grimm?” Wasp called out, a mixture of fear, awe, and probably fear of his life. Things had been the epitome of a clusterfuck, the very definition of the word. Tonight was already strange enough, and he had a feeling that this was going to be downright weird. Luckily for him, Grimm merely looked up at him, and didn't bash his skull in. Things were looking up already for him.
Beside Wasp was the minature version of himself, his son Kyle. Three years old, the boy was full of wonder, having gotten so close to the wrestler that he had proclaimed his favourite. “This is my son, Kyle. We were, uh, just wondering if, uh, we could get an autograph? You're his favourite,” Wasp managed to spit out, trying not to show his fear in an outward moment.
Grimm stood there, saying nothing, and Wasp was waiting to cower into a shell at any moment, then the legendary man's face changed, and to Wasp it looked as though Grimm might be constipated. There was a relaxation and then Grimm did the unthinkable, and nodded. Wasp took his son and quickly ushered him towards Grimm, and the little boy needed no reassurance. He ran right up to Grimm, who still hadn't moved at this point, and started hugging his leg.
Wasp was mortified and stood there, in a kind of stunned daze. Grimm looked down at the boy, and might of cracked something that in some other universe passed for a smile. Certainly not this one. “If you were a dog, you'd pee on my leg,” was all the legend said and Wasp wasn't sure whether to laugh, or to be creeped out. A little of both was in order.
Grimm reached out and took the marker and paper from Kyle, and quickly scrawled an autograph. He patted the boy on the head, and Kyle ran back to Wasp yelling “Daddy! Look what I got!”
When Wasp looked up from his son to thank Grimm, it was as if he had vanished into thin air. He looked in every which direction, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Again, that creepy vibe rolled through him, and he quickly ushered his excited son towards the car. Their business here was done.
A couple days later
In the back room of the Bull and Boar Pub
Approximately, 1am.
Wasp was waiting for his tag partner, High Tide, in the dingy back room of the Bull and Boar Pub. There was a fine layer of dust, for no one used this room. At least, that's what one of the bartenders had implied while Wasp had held his fist an inch from his face. The pirate had supposed to have been there well over fourty five minutes ago. He slammed his fist down on the ancient wooden table, and a layer of dust poofed into the air, causing him to cough violently.
Of course that would be the moment High Tide casually sauntered through the door, almost a smile on his face. Wasp noticed he looked weaker, somehow, almost drained. Either way, the disrespect wasn't going to fly with him, not today.
He leapt out of his seat and with a loud crack, connected his fist solidly with High Tide's face. The pirate's head whipped backwards, and the rest of his body followed as he landed on his ass, again initiating a cloud of dust. High Tide had no idea why he was being attacked, but he wasn't one to turn the other cheek, and leapt forward himself, looking to catch his partner around the waist, a spear of sorts.
Wasp was ready for it though, and with vicious ruthlessness, he brought a knee up with a resounding crack. That was probably the sound of his nose breaking, but he didn't care. Tide hit the ground again and this time didn't try to get up. He was curled up in a ball, blood running freely from his nose. Wasp grabbed him by the collar and jerked Tide's face within inches of his own. He was so close he could smell the rum on the pirate's breath.
“Listen well, because I'm only saying this once. I don't know what the fuck has gotten into your lazy, alcoholic pirate ass lately, but we run a business here. That business doesn't exist if we don't keep things going smoothly in the ring. I don't care how much you drink, I don't care how many women you fuck, but when it's time to step in that ring, you'd better pull your pants up, or I swear to fuck Tide, I'll find a more motivated partner,” Wasp spoke his tone low and threatening, and Tide, barely conscious, made no effort to reply.
“At Collison Course, you aren't booked. I am. MY belt is on the line again, so it's an underground rules match. At Collison course you had better make sure your drunk ass finds a way to ringside. Yukio and Reece are going to wish they'd never stepped foot in this division after we're done with them and you'd better see to it you do your damn part. We're in this together so it's time for you to step up and start acting like it. Give a little extra punishment to Bubba, we need to teach him what happens when he interferes with things he's not meant to be a part of. Remember, at Collison Course if you don't show up in time, you're going to wish you'd never seen me,” and with that message sent, Wasp slammed Tide's head into the dusty wooden floor, putting his lights out. With hardly a care in the world, he was now the one sauntering out the door, and feeling damn good about himself.
In The Parking Lot
“Mr. Grimm sir? Sir? Mr. Grimm?” Wasp called out, a mixture of fear, awe, and probably fear of his life. Things had been the epitome of a clusterfuck, the very definition of the word. Tonight was already strange enough, and he had a feeling that this was going to be downright weird. Luckily for him, Grimm merely looked up at him, and didn't bash his skull in. Things were looking up already for him.
Beside Wasp was the minature version of himself, his son Kyle. Three years old, the boy was full of wonder, having gotten so close to the wrestler that he had proclaimed his favourite. “This is my son, Kyle. We were, uh, just wondering if, uh, we could get an autograph? You're his favourite,” Wasp managed to spit out, trying not to show his fear in an outward moment.
Grimm stood there, saying nothing, and Wasp was waiting to cower into a shell at any moment, then the legendary man's face changed, and to Wasp it looked as though Grimm might be constipated. There was a relaxation and then Grimm did the unthinkable, and nodded. Wasp took his son and quickly ushered him towards Grimm, and the little boy needed no reassurance. He ran right up to Grimm, who still hadn't moved at this point, and started hugging his leg.
Wasp was mortified and stood there, in a kind of stunned daze. Grimm looked down at the boy, and might of cracked something that in some other universe passed for a smile. Certainly not this one. “If you were a dog, you'd pee on my leg,” was all the legend said and Wasp wasn't sure whether to laugh, or to be creeped out. A little of both was in order.
Grimm reached out and took the marker and paper from Kyle, and quickly scrawled an autograph. He patted the boy on the head, and Kyle ran back to Wasp yelling “Daddy! Look what I got!”
When Wasp looked up from his son to thank Grimm, it was as if he had vanished into thin air. He looked in every which direction, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Again, that creepy vibe rolled through him, and he quickly ushered his excited son towards the car. Their business here was done.
A couple days later
In the back room of the Bull and Boar Pub
Approximately, 1am.
Wasp was waiting for his tag partner, High Tide, in the dingy back room of the Bull and Boar Pub. There was a fine layer of dust, for no one used this room. At least, that's what one of the bartenders had implied while Wasp had held his fist an inch from his face. The pirate had supposed to have been there well over fourty five minutes ago. He slammed his fist down on the ancient wooden table, and a layer of dust poofed into the air, causing him to cough violently.
Of course that would be the moment High Tide casually sauntered through the door, almost a smile on his face. Wasp noticed he looked weaker, somehow, almost drained. Either way, the disrespect wasn't going to fly with him, not today.
He leapt out of his seat and with a loud crack, connected his fist solidly with High Tide's face. The pirate's head whipped backwards, and the rest of his body followed as he landed on his ass, again initiating a cloud of dust. High Tide had no idea why he was being attacked, but he wasn't one to turn the other cheek, and leapt forward himself, looking to catch his partner around the waist, a spear of sorts.
Wasp was ready for it though, and with vicious ruthlessness, he brought a knee up with a resounding crack. That was probably the sound of his nose breaking, but he didn't care. Tide hit the ground again and this time didn't try to get up. He was curled up in a ball, blood running freely from his nose. Wasp grabbed him by the collar and jerked Tide's face within inches of his own. He was so close he could smell the rum on the pirate's breath.
“Listen well, because I'm only saying this once. I don't know what the fuck has gotten into your lazy, alcoholic pirate ass lately, but we run a business here. That business doesn't exist if we don't keep things going smoothly in the ring. I don't care how much you drink, I don't care how many women you fuck, but when it's time to step in that ring, you'd better pull your pants up, or I swear to fuck Tide, I'll find a more motivated partner,” Wasp spoke his tone low and threatening, and Tide, barely conscious, made no effort to reply.
“At Collison Course, you aren't booked. I am. MY belt is on the line again, so it's an underground rules match. At Collison course you had better make sure your drunk ass finds a way to ringside. Yukio and Reece are going to wish they'd never stepped foot in this division after we're done with them and you'd better see to it you do your damn part. We're in this together so it's time for you to step up and start acting like it. Give a little extra punishment to Bubba, we need to teach him what happens when he interferes with things he's not meant to be a part of. Remember, at Collison Course if you don't show up in time, you're going to wish you'd never seen me,” and with that message sent, Wasp slammed Tide's head into the dusty wooden floor, putting his lights out. With hardly a care in the world, he was now the one sauntering out the door, and feeling damn good about himself.
