Post by Wasp on Apr 10, 2017 19:08:59 GMT -5
The phone call had come rather late in the evening.
The shrill ringing of the telephone (yes, Jule Martins was a man who believed in the old “home phone”) had startled him, nearly causing him to miss answering before the dreaded answering machine did. He still couldn't figure out how to make that thing go past 3 rings. He had been watching some new show or other on Netflix, he wasn't exactly sure the name of it, and to be honest he had briefly nodded off.
He quickly picked up the red receiver. “Hello, Jule Martins, who is calling this late?” the man formerly known as Wasp spoke quickly and to the point. Late night phone calls were a pet peeve of his, and he was sure it was probably some friend or other pulling a prank on him. After all, who the hell else was going to call him this late?
“Wasp? Old buddy, old pal, how are you doing?” came the unfortunately familiar voice of “The World's Greatest Pirate” John “High Tide” Reese. Martins shook his head, surprised to realize a small crack of a smile had started on his face.
“Tide? What the hell are you calling me for this late? If you've got some half baked pirate adventure to proposition to me, forget it. I'm as straight as I've ever been, and it's no thanks to you. Do you know how many STI tests I had to take after your last party? THREE. Thank the gods I didn't catch anything. Hell even my stint as a vaccuum salesman didn't suck, no pun intended, as much as half the time I was doing crazy shit with you. Then again, Walmart is a real dream killer. Anyways, if it's something like that, then don't waste your time. If not, well, speak up man, let's hear ya,” Wasp replied, his new found confidence surprising even himself.
“Har. Har. Har. You're too damn square for anymore of my parties, me hearty. No, what I called to tell you was that The Iceman Invitational Tournament is back. I know you're still technically on contract, even if you're “retired”. I heard from the rumor mill that you're booked for a match, against Olivia Xavier. Anways as your PAL, I thought I'd at least let you know, so you didn't get in trouble for not following your contractual obligations or what have you. Not that I'd know anything about that. Anyways, I'm about to go to one of my rip-roaringly sea-faringly rad parties. Good luck in your match, or your court case, whatever the hell you decide,” the line dropped dead and Wasp cursed at the ring tone as he slammed the red receiver back down with a loud thwack.
He hadn't been in a match in god knew how long. Damn it, he barely followed the damn industry anymore. Yet, High Tide had been right, he was contractually obligated to participate in the match, lest he suffer the consequences. He had gone on too straight a path to allow that to happen, and, was he detecting a little bit of... excitement? No, it couldn't be.
No. It was. Something was stirring inside him. Being on the straight and narrow was great and all, but there was just something so god damn alluring about being in the ring, the fans (if he had any left) just circled around you cheering. The atmosphere was absolutely out of this world, and Martins had decided that he wanted a taste of that action. Maybe he could even win the damn thing. He'd certainly need to train if he wanted to get past Olivia Xavier, let alone anyone else.
He picked up the receiver again and dialed a number he had memorized years before. “Hello? Percy? Hi, yes it's Jule Martins here. Remember I said there might come a day and time I'd want the gym reopened? Well, it looks like that time is here.”
The shrill ringing of the telephone (yes, Jule Martins was a man who believed in the old “home phone”) had startled him, nearly causing him to miss answering before the dreaded answering machine did. He still couldn't figure out how to make that thing go past 3 rings. He had been watching some new show or other on Netflix, he wasn't exactly sure the name of it, and to be honest he had briefly nodded off.
He quickly picked up the red receiver. “Hello, Jule Martins, who is calling this late?” the man formerly known as Wasp spoke quickly and to the point. Late night phone calls were a pet peeve of his, and he was sure it was probably some friend or other pulling a prank on him. After all, who the hell else was going to call him this late?
“Wasp? Old buddy, old pal, how are you doing?” came the unfortunately familiar voice of “The World's Greatest Pirate” John “High Tide” Reese. Martins shook his head, surprised to realize a small crack of a smile had started on his face.
“Tide? What the hell are you calling me for this late? If you've got some half baked pirate adventure to proposition to me, forget it. I'm as straight as I've ever been, and it's no thanks to you. Do you know how many STI tests I had to take after your last party? THREE. Thank the gods I didn't catch anything. Hell even my stint as a vaccuum salesman didn't suck, no pun intended, as much as half the time I was doing crazy shit with you. Then again, Walmart is a real dream killer. Anyways, if it's something like that, then don't waste your time. If not, well, speak up man, let's hear ya,” Wasp replied, his new found confidence surprising even himself.
“Har. Har. Har. You're too damn square for anymore of my parties, me hearty. No, what I called to tell you was that The Iceman Invitational Tournament is back. I know you're still technically on contract, even if you're “retired”. I heard from the rumor mill that you're booked for a match, against Olivia Xavier. Anways as your PAL, I thought I'd at least let you know, so you didn't get in trouble for not following your contractual obligations or what have you. Not that I'd know anything about that. Anyways, I'm about to go to one of my rip-roaringly sea-faringly rad parties. Good luck in your match, or your court case, whatever the hell you decide,” the line dropped dead and Wasp cursed at the ring tone as he slammed the red receiver back down with a loud thwack.
He hadn't been in a match in god knew how long. Damn it, he barely followed the damn industry anymore. Yet, High Tide had been right, he was contractually obligated to participate in the match, lest he suffer the consequences. He had gone on too straight a path to allow that to happen, and, was he detecting a little bit of... excitement? No, it couldn't be.
No. It was. Something was stirring inside him. Being on the straight and narrow was great and all, but there was just something so god damn alluring about being in the ring, the fans (if he had any left) just circled around you cheering. The atmosphere was absolutely out of this world, and Martins had decided that he wanted a taste of that action. Maybe he could even win the damn thing. He'd certainly need to train if he wanted to get past Olivia Xavier, let alone anyone else.
He picked up the receiver again and dialed a number he had memorized years before. “Hello? Percy? Hi, yes it's Jule Martins here. Remember I said there might come a day and time I'd want the gym reopened? Well, it looks like that time is here.”
