Post by High Tide on Mar 19, 2017 20:38:03 GMT -5
Wet. Tired. Unsuccessful. That's how the last week had me feeling. Tired and unsuccessful because I couldn't eke out a win in my last match. I could blame that on my tag team partner of the night, but in reality, it was my own fault. I got cocky, I got outsmarted, and I didn't have my head in the game enough. That's what getting back into the business did to you, but what else could I do? I was out of options.
Wet, because I was walking in the rain, my huge boots splashing water up into my pants. What was it with rain anyways? Every fucking time I needed to do something, it was like some sort of trigger for the sky to open up and deliver it's bounty. Just perfect, I couldn't even fucking stay dry on land. Where was I going? The better question I had for myself was WHY was I going. I knew I was walking into an ambush and here I was willing sloshing water everywhere, chain smoking which left me extra visisble with that bright cherry red glow, and occasionally smacking lamp posts, just to look the part. You see, with age and time, my brain has not become as addled as people think, I just happen to hold my liquor better. They want to see a drunk pirate? They'll have one.
The real reason I was going into this ambush was because I honestly felt the need to prove a point. I'd heard through the grapevine that a lot of my former enemies had basically laughed when the rumor of me coming back into the business had circled (a rumor that I had started, which in all reality, wasn't a rumor but a truth.) Men who had feared me, feared my name being spoken too loudly in their presence, laughing at me. It might give away my hand, but the idea that they thought I would be fooled so easily was nothing short of a grave insult. One that I would have to rectify.
I took a left at the next street, still sloshing my way through the puddles that really seemed to be rising at a quick pace. I was nearing my destination, within a couple of minutes, and I wanted to be ready. I was to meet with a game named “Bertrand” on what just HAPPENED to be a dead end street, to purchase a “rare and unique aquatic artifact”. It was like they weren't even trying. Most shady sounding thing I'd ever heard in my life, it just screamed ambush.
While I was thinking about ambushes, my next match came to mind. Now it is not an ambush in the traditional sense, but to me it felt like an ambush. I stopped under a street lamp with an exaggerated swaying motion to pull up my wet sock that had slipped in my boot before picking up the “drunk” pace again. It wasn't even malicious, the match. Why did I feel it an ambush? Well if I had to be honest, my hopes for beating Saniti were very slim, at least in my mind. The man was certainly on a skill rung above my own. The only thing giving me any sort of hope was the fact I still had what had to be considered the most devastating arsenal of underhanded tricks and tactics to ever grace the PCW ring. A pair of testicles approaches in the winter? Well you could just call me the Nutcracker.
Another left turn, with visibility low left me on the dead end street and I could see a darkly clad figure at the end of the street. My drunken sway became more pronounced as I took a flask out of my pocket, and took a small, but warming swig. My first of the evening (though not my first of the afternoon). I also spotted the other three darkly clad figures, hiding behind the wooden beams that stuck out of the ground at the dead end. It was clever, I'd give them that. If I had been actually shit faced drunk, I wouldn't of seen any of them.
“Are you Bertrand?” I made sure to slur a bit as I called out to the man as I got close. He nodded and so I got even closer. “Where's this treasure you done called me about. I needa get it quick so I can go drink me some more booze!” I laid on the slurring now, even going so far as to jolt forward unexpectedly, spilling some of my rum on his black coat. “Sorry about that!”
He took a step back, and shook his head a little. “It's quite fine, I didn't know if I could trust you so I left the box with the treasure behind that white house over there. Why don't you come for a little walk with me, we'll pick it up and make the deal. You have the money right?” Bertand asked, his beady green eyes boring holes in me.
I tapped the briefcase I had been carrying in my flaskless hand against my leg. “All twenty three thousand Bertrando. Let's go get the treasure Bernardo, I got me some loot to retrieve!” I said trying so hard not to smile. This was going to be too easy.
The instant we got around the back of the house the three guys made their move, and I could hear them sloshing quietly towards me. “Woops,” I said stumbling forward as though I was still drunk, so that I gave them no information at all. However, I strategically splashed my flask up into Bertrand's eyes.
“Arrgh,” he said (and I thought it mighty unfair that he stole MY line) and brought his hands up to cover his face, furiously rubbing at his eyes. Then at the last moment, I moved to the left a bit, my flask tucked safely away in one of my many inner pockets and turned towards my attackers. I was lined up well enough that they did not expect me to jump forward, landing a double clothesline on two of them, sending them crashing into the puddle covered dirt below them. The third went sliding past me, crashing fortunately for me into Bertrand, and it knocked the two of them off their feet in the unforgiving wet terrain.
The two men were starting to get up, but this wasn't a PCW match. Three hard rights knocked the first one out, while just one uppercut helped the second man almost stand up, but unfortunately for him he was back on the ground in la la land. The third guy was first to rise, and he rushed for me. I stood my ground noticing that Bertrand was slow to get up. With only my right fist free, me and the third attacker looked as though we were in a UFC match each leaning forward and back looking for the perfect punch. At least he was smart enough to not wrestle me. I stepped back, almost casually as if the fight was over, and it startled him for a moment which was what I was counting on. He never even saw the Lay With The Fish coming, because lets be honest who lets loose a dropkick in a rainstorm in an honest to god fight. Well, this pirate does, and I got my legs up high enough to connect with his chin (he was a short man, it was not that impressive) and this sent him hurtling backwards. He landed, and after watching for a couple seconds, it was apparent he wasn't getting back up.
However I had not kept an eye on Bertrand who was now in front of me. I saw a gleaming object flying towards me and I brought my (empty) briefcase up in front of me. It deflected the blow, but left a huge dent in the briefcase. It wouldn't take another hit cleanly. I tossed it forward with reckless abandon, hoping only to buy myself enough time to gain a few steps backwards, but it hit him in the head and appeared to daze him. I ran forward, looking to spear him to the ground and then knock him out so I could get out of the rain. However I was too eager it appeared, as he moved out of the way and merely stuck his foot out. I fell for the oldest trick in the book as he tripped me and immediately moved behind me as I rose. I felt a cold metal pipe being pressed against my throat, restricting my breathing.
“Any last words motherfucker?” Bertrand snarled and then laughed knowing I could talk. I didn't have any last words anyways, but I did have a new trick up my sleeve. With all the force I could muster, I bucked backwards, slamming the back of my head into his nose, causing him to lose his grip on me and stumble back. On pure instinct I kicked backwards and up, and connected with one of the best low blows I had ever landed, dropping him to his knees before he fell flat on his face with a pitiful cry of agony (I was wearing cleats.)
I crouched down for a moment once I was sure they weren't getting up, so I could catch my breath. I rubbed my neck, it was sore from having the metal pipe pressed against it. Still, here I was victorious, and certain to send a message back to those who thought it a laughing matter that I had returned to the business. I started to walk away but then I turned back. Pulling out my flask I raised it in the general direction of the fallen ambushers and taunted them with a hearty “A drink to you boys!” before downing a considerable mouthful of rum.
Oh yes, it felt good to be back.
Wet, because I was walking in the rain, my huge boots splashing water up into my pants. What was it with rain anyways? Every fucking time I needed to do something, it was like some sort of trigger for the sky to open up and deliver it's bounty. Just perfect, I couldn't even fucking stay dry on land. Where was I going? The better question I had for myself was WHY was I going. I knew I was walking into an ambush and here I was willing sloshing water everywhere, chain smoking which left me extra visisble with that bright cherry red glow, and occasionally smacking lamp posts, just to look the part. You see, with age and time, my brain has not become as addled as people think, I just happen to hold my liquor better. They want to see a drunk pirate? They'll have one.
The real reason I was going into this ambush was because I honestly felt the need to prove a point. I'd heard through the grapevine that a lot of my former enemies had basically laughed when the rumor of me coming back into the business had circled (a rumor that I had started, which in all reality, wasn't a rumor but a truth.) Men who had feared me, feared my name being spoken too loudly in their presence, laughing at me. It might give away my hand, but the idea that they thought I would be fooled so easily was nothing short of a grave insult. One that I would have to rectify.
I took a left at the next street, still sloshing my way through the puddles that really seemed to be rising at a quick pace. I was nearing my destination, within a couple of minutes, and I wanted to be ready. I was to meet with a game named “Bertrand” on what just HAPPENED to be a dead end street, to purchase a “rare and unique aquatic artifact”. It was like they weren't even trying. Most shady sounding thing I'd ever heard in my life, it just screamed ambush.
While I was thinking about ambushes, my next match came to mind. Now it is not an ambush in the traditional sense, but to me it felt like an ambush. I stopped under a street lamp with an exaggerated swaying motion to pull up my wet sock that had slipped in my boot before picking up the “drunk” pace again. It wasn't even malicious, the match. Why did I feel it an ambush? Well if I had to be honest, my hopes for beating Saniti were very slim, at least in my mind. The man was certainly on a skill rung above my own. The only thing giving me any sort of hope was the fact I still had what had to be considered the most devastating arsenal of underhanded tricks and tactics to ever grace the PCW ring. A pair of testicles approaches in the winter? Well you could just call me the Nutcracker.
Another left turn, with visibility low left me on the dead end street and I could see a darkly clad figure at the end of the street. My drunken sway became more pronounced as I took a flask out of my pocket, and took a small, but warming swig. My first of the evening (though not my first of the afternoon). I also spotted the other three darkly clad figures, hiding behind the wooden beams that stuck out of the ground at the dead end. It was clever, I'd give them that. If I had been actually shit faced drunk, I wouldn't of seen any of them.
“Are you Bertrand?” I made sure to slur a bit as I called out to the man as I got close. He nodded and so I got even closer. “Where's this treasure you done called me about. I needa get it quick so I can go drink me some more booze!” I laid on the slurring now, even going so far as to jolt forward unexpectedly, spilling some of my rum on his black coat. “Sorry about that!”
He took a step back, and shook his head a little. “It's quite fine, I didn't know if I could trust you so I left the box with the treasure behind that white house over there. Why don't you come for a little walk with me, we'll pick it up and make the deal. You have the money right?” Bertand asked, his beady green eyes boring holes in me.
I tapped the briefcase I had been carrying in my flaskless hand against my leg. “All twenty three thousand Bertrando. Let's go get the treasure Bernardo, I got me some loot to retrieve!” I said trying so hard not to smile. This was going to be too easy.
The instant we got around the back of the house the three guys made their move, and I could hear them sloshing quietly towards me. “Woops,” I said stumbling forward as though I was still drunk, so that I gave them no information at all. However, I strategically splashed my flask up into Bertrand's eyes.
“Arrgh,” he said (and I thought it mighty unfair that he stole MY line) and brought his hands up to cover his face, furiously rubbing at his eyes. Then at the last moment, I moved to the left a bit, my flask tucked safely away in one of my many inner pockets and turned towards my attackers. I was lined up well enough that they did not expect me to jump forward, landing a double clothesline on two of them, sending them crashing into the puddle covered dirt below them. The third went sliding past me, crashing fortunately for me into Bertrand, and it knocked the two of them off their feet in the unforgiving wet terrain.
The two men were starting to get up, but this wasn't a PCW match. Three hard rights knocked the first one out, while just one uppercut helped the second man almost stand up, but unfortunately for him he was back on the ground in la la land. The third guy was first to rise, and he rushed for me. I stood my ground noticing that Bertrand was slow to get up. With only my right fist free, me and the third attacker looked as though we were in a UFC match each leaning forward and back looking for the perfect punch. At least he was smart enough to not wrestle me. I stepped back, almost casually as if the fight was over, and it startled him for a moment which was what I was counting on. He never even saw the Lay With The Fish coming, because lets be honest who lets loose a dropkick in a rainstorm in an honest to god fight. Well, this pirate does, and I got my legs up high enough to connect with his chin (he was a short man, it was not that impressive) and this sent him hurtling backwards. He landed, and after watching for a couple seconds, it was apparent he wasn't getting back up.
However I had not kept an eye on Bertrand who was now in front of me. I saw a gleaming object flying towards me and I brought my (empty) briefcase up in front of me. It deflected the blow, but left a huge dent in the briefcase. It wouldn't take another hit cleanly. I tossed it forward with reckless abandon, hoping only to buy myself enough time to gain a few steps backwards, but it hit him in the head and appeared to daze him. I ran forward, looking to spear him to the ground and then knock him out so I could get out of the rain. However I was too eager it appeared, as he moved out of the way and merely stuck his foot out. I fell for the oldest trick in the book as he tripped me and immediately moved behind me as I rose. I felt a cold metal pipe being pressed against my throat, restricting my breathing.
“Any last words motherfucker?” Bertrand snarled and then laughed knowing I could talk. I didn't have any last words anyways, but I did have a new trick up my sleeve. With all the force I could muster, I bucked backwards, slamming the back of my head into his nose, causing him to lose his grip on me and stumble back. On pure instinct I kicked backwards and up, and connected with one of the best low blows I had ever landed, dropping him to his knees before he fell flat on his face with a pitiful cry of agony (I was wearing cleats.)
I crouched down for a moment once I was sure they weren't getting up, so I could catch my breath. I rubbed my neck, it was sore from having the metal pipe pressed against it. Still, here I was victorious, and certain to send a message back to those who thought it a laughing matter that I had returned to the business. I started to walk away but then I turned back. Pulling out my flask I raised it in the general direction of the fallen ambushers and taunted them with a hearty “A drink to you boys!” before downing a considerable mouthful of rum.
Oh yes, it felt good to be back.
