Post by ￦AR￦¥K on Feb 13, 2017 21:12:41 GMT -5
It was another busy night at Barlow's pub, not with any new faces or anything like that, but the usual hard working men and women that always gathered on Saturday night's with their pay days in hand. Saturday night's at Barlow's meant betting, fighting, and lots of drinking.
Standing at the bar drinking down his pint of beer was a young man with bright flaming red hair was the star of Saturday night fights, Warwyk. He had a name of course but for as long as anyone could remember they just called him Warwyk after his explosive temper and thirst to fight, every fight was a war to him.
"So this Irish guy knocks on this lady's door and says, you know, 'Have you got any, uh... Any, uh... work for me?'" Warwyk pauses to drink his beer, "And she says, 'Um, well, you know, as a matter of fact, you could paint the porch.' O'bout two hours later, the guy comes back and says, 'I've finished, ma'am, but just fer yer information, it's not a porch, it's a BMW!'"
The people standing around Warwyk remain quiet for the longest time, long enough for Warwyk to finish his beer and order another. Then the laughter slowly began to build as the joke sank in which caused Warwyk to laugh shaking his head, "Jaysus you koonts are daft fookers! Fer being so slow tha' next round is on you bastards!"
"Excuse me, oh sorry pardon me," the voice was small but it was slowly getting closer as it fought through the small crowd around the bar, "Mister Greenly? Looking for a Tobias Greenly?"
Warwyk turned around leaning back against the bar as a shirt bald man pushed through the last wall of people, "Are you Tobias?"
"Aye, I might be! That's Toby there too," Warwyk pointed to a old gentleman with white hair who raised his mug, "Goh two Tobys over there! She's a Toby."
The balding American man laughed with a hint of nervousness in it, "Well I'm looking for the Tobias they call Warwyk, I'm with PCW from the state's."
"Aye! Why didn' yeh say tha' yah short far fook! I'm Warwyk," the loud Irishman yelled taking the short balding man under his arm walking away from the bar, "Let's step into me office, I've been waitin' on yer fellows to reach back out to me. Wha' yah gah' fer me? Tha curly haired souless ginger lad? Or maybeh tha' coke fueled areshole? Line'em up fer me tah knock'em down!"
"Even better! Your first opponent is no easy push over," the balding man sat a briefcase on the table inside their booth, "He was once a Underground champion, a foreigner like yourself, and besides wrestling he has experience in other fields of combat. We think for the both of you this match will set the bar for your careers."
He snaps the fancy buttons on the case pulling out a contract setting it in front of Warwyk who quickly pulls it closer to him looking from the picture of Hiroshi Yukio to the balding man, picture, balding man, and the picture.
"Is there a problem Mister Warwyk?" the balding man said playing with his briefcase.
"Aye I do lad, this fook is indeed a big koont! Jaysus could he wrestle his pecker pas' his diaper?! Or tha' fookin belleh!?" Warwyk tossed the contract back shaking his head, "This tha' best yer company can offer? I'll beat this fookers eyes shut no problem, I wanted a challenge lad! No easy push over, Jaysus no shite he's biggest outta water bison I ever met!"
"He's very honorable! Plus sir as we tell everyone stepping into our sport you've got to start somewhere! We just don't hand you what you want," he pushed the contract back, "So take it or leave it Mister Warwyk."
Warwyk stood up, "Barlow pour us a drink of tha' strong shite!"
The balding man was smiling as he handed Warwyk a pen, "You won't regret this Mister Warwyk, this is the best starting point! Prove your worth and you'll go far in PCW, I and the company are putting a lot off faith in you."
POW! CRACK!
Warwyk cracks the balding man in the nose using his finger to wipe blood from the mans pouring nose, "Tha' only fookers who will be regretting this is you fools! Now let's drank friend!"
With the blood on his finger he signs his name and drags the bleeding balding man to the bar.
Standing at the bar drinking down his pint of beer was a young man with bright flaming red hair was the star of Saturday night fights, Warwyk. He had a name of course but for as long as anyone could remember they just called him Warwyk after his explosive temper and thirst to fight, every fight was a war to him.
"So this Irish guy knocks on this lady's door and says, you know, 'Have you got any, uh... Any, uh... work for me?'" Warwyk pauses to drink his beer, "And she says, 'Um, well, you know, as a matter of fact, you could paint the porch.' O'bout two hours later, the guy comes back and says, 'I've finished, ma'am, but just fer yer information, it's not a porch, it's a BMW!'"
The people standing around Warwyk remain quiet for the longest time, long enough for Warwyk to finish his beer and order another. Then the laughter slowly began to build as the joke sank in which caused Warwyk to laugh shaking his head, "Jaysus you koonts are daft fookers! Fer being so slow tha' next round is on you bastards!"
"Excuse me, oh sorry pardon me," the voice was small but it was slowly getting closer as it fought through the small crowd around the bar, "Mister Greenly? Looking for a Tobias Greenly?"
Warwyk turned around leaning back against the bar as a shirt bald man pushed through the last wall of people, "Are you Tobias?"
"Aye, I might be! That's Toby there too," Warwyk pointed to a old gentleman with white hair who raised his mug, "Goh two Tobys over there! She's a Toby."
The balding American man laughed with a hint of nervousness in it, "Well I'm looking for the Tobias they call Warwyk, I'm with PCW from the state's."
"Aye! Why didn' yeh say tha' yah short far fook! I'm Warwyk," the loud Irishman yelled taking the short balding man under his arm walking away from the bar, "Let's step into me office, I've been waitin' on yer fellows to reach back out to me. Wha' yah gah' fer me? Tha curly haired souless ginger lad? Or maybeh tha' coke fueled areshole? Line'em up fer me tah knock'em down!"
"Even better! Your first opponent is no easy push over," the balding man sat a briefcase on the table inside their booth, "He was once a Underground champion, a foreigner like yourself, and besides wrestling he has experience in other fields of combat. We think for the both of you this match will set the bar for your careers."
He snaps the fancy buttons on the case pulling out a contract setting it in front of Warwyk who quickly pulls it closer to him looking from the picture of Hiroshi Yukio to the balding man, picture, balding man, and the picture.
"Is there a problem Mister Warwyk?" the balding man said playing with his briefcase.
"Aye I do lad, this fook is indeed a big koont! Jaysus could he wrestle his pecker pas' his diaper?! Or tha' fookin belleh!?" Warwyk tossed the contract back shaking his head, "This tha' best yer company can offer? I'll beat this fookers eyes shut no problem, I wanted a challenge lad! No easy push over, Jaysus no shite he's biggest outta water bison I ever met!"
"He's very honorable! Plus sir as we tell everyone stepping into our sport you've got to start somewhere! We just don't hand you what you want," he pushed the contract back, "So take it or leave it Mister Warwyk."
Warwyk stood up, "Barlow pour us a drink of tha' strong shite!"
The balding man was smiling as he handed Warwyk a pen, "You won't regret this Mister Warwyk, this is the best starting point! Prove your worth and you'll go far in PCW, I and the company are putting a lot off faith in you."
POW! CRACK!
Warwyk cracks the balding man in the nose using his finger to wipe blood from the mans pouring nose, "Tha' only fookers who will be regretting this is you fools! Now let's drank friend!"
With the blood on his finger he signs his name and drags the bleeding balding man to the bar.
