Post by E.S.G.C. on Feb 1, 2016 23:00:54 GMT -5
The proud smile of a parent.
The approving nod.
Lewis Hayden and Miles Prescott III are enjoying a bit of horsing around. Literally, these men are riding horses. The track on the ground of the East Sutcliffe Gentlemen’s Club is kept in pristine condition. The light din of commotion in the main sitting area is not enough to distract Reginald Emsworth from keeping an eye on his prized students. Alcohol being sipped in tasteful fashion, the faint aroma of mint julep seems to seep from the very walls themselves. Lorenzo being a MASTER barkeep, there is never a reason to be without drink in hand.
“Mr. Emsworth. Sir ... sir what ARE you staring at?” Ever the observant sort, Lorenzo catches on quickly to Emsworth’s laser guided focus. “The boys. They look as good as ever. Did you perhaps chance upon the broadcast?” Lorenzo nods and smiles. “That I did, sir. Very fine showing I must say. Although, I will admit ... I was a bit ...” Lorzenzo stops, attempting to quickly piece together his words in non-confronting fashion. “... taken aback. Not by them, of course. By the reaction they seemed to receive.”
Emsworth lets out a laugh and nods heavily with a sip of his drink. “AH! Those ruffians. I say, Lorenzo, it’s quite all right. It bears mentioning: this is the way things go, my friend. Especially in regards to something or someone who is not fully understood. First, it begins with mockery. Insults. Eventually, mockery turns to anger. Disdain. And finally ... acceptance.” Lorenzo nods as Emsworth slides his glass across the bar. “I see. Well sir, in that case, they did a fine job. One will never say they looked the horse’s rear.”
“On the CONTRARY, Lorenzo. I believe it was a proper demonstration of how NOT to engage gentlemen such as these. There is much to be said for fair play and gentlemanly conduct. These ... these ... swashbucklers ... are quite obviously oblivious to the concept. But there is no reason to hold this against them. They will learn. In time.” Lorenzo nods and slides the glass back across the bar towards Emsworth, Emsworth’s eye never seeming to move from the men rounding the track with precise and beautiful, technically sound controls.
“And what of this next coming week? Have we any idea who they are being placed against?” Emsworth turns his attention back to Lorenzo again. “My good sir, THAT is an excellent question. Never you mind on who may be across the ring. Let’s hope it to be a TRUE test of skill and training and not some descent into FISTICUFFS. There is indeed more to competition than simple FISTICUFFS. It really is a shame that the art of WRESTLING has been sullied by those who would besmirch its’ good name with such barbaric actions.”
“Pure Class Wrestling may have just found its’ way back into its’ own namesake.”
“It is time to FORMALLY introduce ... the ambassadors to the East Sutcliffe Gentlemen’s Club.”
Reginald Emsworth has a microphone in hand, leaning on an ornate walking cane as he beckons for his young charges to enter. Miles Prescott III. Lewis Hayden. Both men looking rather tip-top as they flank the elder statesman, he smiles and backs up a step or two before continuing to speak. “Yes, finally. A return to the glory of halcyon days, where competition ruled and honor was the ONLY commodity worth seeking.” He smiles and glances over at Miles Prescott III, the camera focusing in on him tightly.
“Miles Prescott the Third. Powerful as any Lion on the Serengeti and yet, gentle enough to woo any woman. His power matched only by his thirst for true sport, young master Prescott finds himself itching to test himself against the best that Pure Class Wrestling has to offer.” The camera backing out, Emsworth turns his attention to the second young man.
“Lewis Hayden. The purest athlete that has existed in a century, his skills upon the mat are unparalleled ... his pedigree of the highest standard. Master Hayden can ... and WILL ... wrestle circles around any man placed in front of him.” Emsworth slaps Hayden’s chest with a loud pop and turns his attention back to the camera as it slowly pans out.
“Pure Class Wrestling, The East Sutcliffe Gentlemen’s Club has arrived to ply their trade upon your soil. We look forward to stepping into the ring with the very BEST of tag teams you have to offer, to test our mettle and to showcase our skills, our potential. You openly mocked us the last time we arrived into your home. We forgive you for that ... uncouth ... reception. We shall chalk it up to unfamiliarity. But do continue. Mock us if you wish. It is something that every man must face, to be mocked by those who fail to understand. And we will face it, head on ... like MEN.”
“I only hope you will do the same when the time comes ... “
The approving nod.
Lewis Hayden and Miles Prescott III are enjoying a bit of horsing around. Literally, these men are riding horses. The track on the ground of the East Sutcliffe Gentlemen’s Club is kept in pristine condition. The light din of commotion in the main sitting area is not enough to distract Reginald Emsworth from keeping an eye on his prized students. Alcohol being sipped in tasteful fashion, the faint aroma of mint julep seems to seep from the very walls themselves. Lorenzo being a MASTER barkeep, there is never a reason to be without drink in hand.
“Mr. Emsworth. Sir ... sir what ARE you staring at?” Ever the observant sort, Lorenzo catches on quickly to Emsworth’s laser guided focus. “The boys. They look as good as ever. Did you perhaps chance upon the broadcast?” Lorenzo nods and smiles. “That I did, sir. Very fine showing I must say. Although, I will admit ... I was a bit ...” Lorzenzo stops, attempting to quickly piece together his words in non-confronting fashion. “... taken aback. Not by them, of course. By the reaction they seemed to receive.”
Emsworth lets out a laugh and nods heavily with a sip of his drink. “AH! Those ruffians. I say, Lorenzo, it’s quite all right. It bears mentioning: this is the way things go, my friend. Especially in regards to something or someone who is not fully understood. First, it begins with mockery. Insults. Eventually, mockery turns to anger. Disdain. And finally ... acceptance.” Lorenzo nods as Emsworth slides his glass across the bar. “I see. Well sir, in that case, they did a fine job. One will never say they looked the horse’s rear.”
“On the CONTRARY, Lorenzo. I believe it was a proper demonstration of how NOT to engage gentlemen such as these. There is much to be said for fair play and gentlemanly conduct. These ... these ... swashbucklers ... are quite obviously oblivious to the concept. But there is no reason to hold this against them. They will learn. In time.” Lorenzo nods and slides the glass back across the bar towards Emsworth, Emsworth’s eye never seeming to move from the men rounding the track with precise and beautiful, technically sound controls.
“And what of this next coming week? Have we any idea who they are being placed against?” Emsworth turns his attention back to Lorenzo again. “My good sir, THAT is an excellent question. Never you mind on who may be across the ring. Let’s hope it to be a TRUE test of skill and training and not some descent into FISTICUFFS. There is indeed more to competition than simple FISTICUFFS. It really is a shame that the art of WRESTLING has been sullied by those who would besmirch its’ good name with such barbaric actions.”
“Pure Class Wrestling may have just found its’ way back into its’ own namesake.”
***
“It is time to FORMALLY introduce ... the ambassadors to the East Sutcliffe Gentlemen’s Club.”
Reginald Emsworth has a microphone in hand, leaning on an ornate walking cane as he beckons for his young charges to enter. Miles Prescott III. Lewis Hayden. Both men looking rather tip-top as they flank the elder statesman, he smiles and backs up a step or two before continuing to speak. “Yes, finally. A return to the glory of halcyon days, where competition ruled and honor was the ONLY commodity worth seeking.” He smiles and glances over at Miles Prescott III, the camera focusing in on him tightly.
“Miles Prescott the Third. Powerful as any Lion on the Serengeti and yet, gentle enough to woo any woman. His power matched only by his thirst for true sport, young master Prescott finds himself itching to test himself against the best that Pure Class Wrestling has to offer.” The camera backing out, Emsworth turns his attention to the second young man.
“Lewis Hayden. The purest athlete that has existed in a century, his skills upon the mat are unparalleled ... his pedigree of the highest standard. Master Hayden can ... and WILL ... wrestle circles around any man placed in front of him.” Emsworth slaps Hayden’s chest with a loud pop and turns his attention back to the camera as it slowly pans out.
“Pure Class Wrestling, The East Sutcliffe Gentlemen’s Club has arrived to ply their trade upon your soil. We look forward to stepping into the ring with the very BEST of tag teams you have to offer, to test our mettle and to showcase our skills, our potential. You openly mocked us the last time we arrived into your home. We forgive you for that ... uncouth ... reception. We shall chalk it up to unfamiliarity. But do continue. Mock us if you wish. It is something that every man must face, to be mocked by those who fail to understand. And we will face it, head on ... like MEN.”
“I only hope you will do the same when the time comes ... “