Post by Wasp on May 22, 2017 20:58:51 GMT -5
The club was really “hopping” or whatever term the kids were using these days, tonight.
Why would the man in question find himself at the club? A man of progressively trending upwards years, a man of experience but not the sort that got you into parties. Why would Jule “The Wasp” Martins of all men, the man who had thrown every bit of shade and criticism at his partner for his excessive alcohol consumption, find himself at a place where that was pretty much encouraged and considered the norm?
Because he just didn't fucking care anymore.
Yep, you heard that right. Mr. I'm Too Good For My Partner's Antics was frustrated to the point of no return. He wasn't hacking it doing it his way. He could just retire, but what kind of retirement party would that be? “Oh congratulations on coming back for a few matches. At least you tried.” Yeah he could just see it now. Nope, he was ready to wrestle whenever PCW wanted to put him out there, he just needed to change something.
It wasn't like he was going to stop working out; he didn't own a gym for it to sit and languish. No, while the drink would sustain and bolster his friend High Tide's performances, it would not work that way with him. However, he realized that he just cared too fucking much about absorbing every moment of the day for training. For fitness. For exercising. To hell with it. He wasn't getting any younger.
That was obvious by the general atmosphere at the Buried Treasure Night Lounge. Lights were flashing so quickly he thought he was sure to go blind. The energy level was insane, and this was coming from a man who had stood in the ring in front of screaming fans. Bodies were moving, drinks were flowing, the conversation was loud and dulled only by the even louder music. It was stuff he was not familiar with, but it was fast and it was upbeat.
He saw some eyes glance towards him even within the first hour as he sat in his VIP booth, alone, and he could only imagine what they saw. An old man, probably with a lot of money, probably looking to pick up a lady or two, or three. What, he wasn't picky. Anyways, the truth was he was lonely, there was no denying that, but he craved the energy, the excitement, the alcohol. Why should he spend his later years always paranoid, always obsessed? Didn't he deserve a damn fun time once and awhile?
An older man was approaching his booth now, and Wasp had a feeling it was the owner. There was no way he was going to find anyone older than him in this place that wasn't in the money.
“Hello there, you must be Jule Martins, our first VIP in a long time. I'm Stan, I own this place and since we haven't had a VIP reservation in so long I'm embarassed to admit, I wanted to come down and thank you personally, see if you needed anything,” the older man spoke, his voice peculiar but it wasn't something he could put a finger on specifically. Wasp looked him up and down, his high class black suit almost seemed to literally swallow any light that approached it. He shook his head to clear it, a little dazed, and regain his bearings.
“Nice to meet you Stan, and yes I'm Mr. Martins. Thank you so much for taking the time to come and see me, I feel very appreciated. I think I have everything I need though, there's more alcohol here than my body could possibly handle. Unless you can suddenly make me some new friends, I think I'll be okay,” Wasp laughs finding pleasure in his own wittiness. Stan smiles back at him, and nods.
“I could probably arrange that Mr. Martins. Are you sure you don't want anything. We have this one drink I only ever give to SPECIAL customers and considering you are our VIP, I thought you might like to try The Drink. It'd be on the house, a token of our appreciation. I'd just have to take you downstairs so no one knew we had it. They'd be swarming us like flies if they knew we had it,” Stan spoke softly this time and something didn't sit so right with Wasp. True, he was probably just trying not to start any drama in his own club, which being a business owner himself, he totally understood. However Wasp had a match, a very important one, and he wasn't going to mess around with anything so special it was locked away downstairs.
“I appreciate the offer of this special drink Stan, but I'll have to take you up on that offer some other time. I appreciate the hospitality all the same though,” he replied hoping that Stan wouldn't question him any further.
“Not a problem Mr. Martins. That offer for The Drink is good anytime, you just find me. I'll see what I can do about finding you those friends. Have a pleasant evening, and thank you again,” Stan replied and with a wink and a bow he disappeared. If Wasp hadn't been drinking, he would have told everybody he knew that the man had just vanished into thin air, but he chocked it up to the alcohol.
The night was turning out to be great. He was feeling really good, and had no plans on slowing down his consumption. He might even have a few people to drink the booze with if Stan was a man of his word, which he seemed like he would be, suspicious or not. It was a little over the top, sure, but it amused Wasp to no end the irony of it. An over the top party from a man who lived for the most part, the straightest, simplest, boring life, right before an Over The Top match. The irony was all too amusing, especially because he had not planned it that way at all. He needed this good feeling, he wanted to be in a great place when he stepped into the ring for that last chance. It wasn't going to be his last match or anything, he really wanted to use the little momentum he had and push forward, but he wanted to make a statement nonetheless. That Jule “The Wasp” Martins was not a pushover then, and certainly wasn't washed up now. Winning would be lovely, he had to admit, but the goal was to send a message. Winning would only further it.
His mind was elsewhere now though, as not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR gorgeous ladies, friends no doubt, were making their way over to his table. Stan The Man had lived up to his word. Wasp smiled, raised his drink to the air and made a toast. “This one's for you High Tide,” and with that he downed the drink in one go and waited for one crazy night, to get even crazier.
Why would the man in question find himself at the club? A man of progressively trending upwards years, a man of experience but not the sort that got you into parties. Why would Jule “The Wasp” Martins of all men, the man who had thrown every bit of shade and criticism at his partner for his excessive alcohol consumption, find himself at a place where that was pretty much encouraged and considered the norm?
Because he just didn't fucking care anymore.
Yep, you heard that right. Mr. I'm Too Good For My Partner's Antics was frustrated to the point of no return. He wasn't hacking it doing it his way. He could just retire, but what kind of retirement party would that be? “Oh congratulations on coming back for a few matches. At least you tried.” Yeah he could just see it now. Nope, he was ready to wrestle whenever PCW wanted to put him out there, he just needed to change something.
It wasn't like he was going to stop working out; he didn't own a gym for it to sit and languish. No, while the drink would sustain and bolster his friend High Tide's performances, it would not work that way with him. However, he realized that he just cared too fucking much about absorbing every moment of the day for training. For fitness. For exercising. To hell with it. He wasn't getting any younger.
That was obvious by the general atmosphere at the Buried Treasure Night Lounge. Lights were flashing so quickly he thought he was sure to go blind. The energy level was insane, and this was coming from a man who had stood in the ring in front of screaming fans. Bodies were moving, drinks were flowing, the conversation was loud and dulled only by the even louder music. It was stuff he was not familiar with, but it was fast and it was upbeat.
He saw some eyes glance towards him even within the first hour as he sat in his VIP booth, alone, and he could only imagine what they saw. An old man, probably with a lot of money, probably looking to pick up a lady or two, or three. What, he wasn't picky. Anyways, the truth was he was lonely, there was no denying that, but he craved the energy, the excitement, the alcohol. Why should he spend his later years always paranoid, always obsessed? Didn't he deserve a damn fun time once and awhile?
An older man was approaching his booth now, and Wasp had a feeling it was the owner. There was no way he was going to find anyone older than him in this place that wasn't in the money.
“Hello there, you must be Jule Martins, our first VIP in a long time. I'm Stan, I own this place and since we haven't had a VIP reservation in so long I'm embarassed to admit, I wanted to come down and thank you personally, see if you needed anything,” the older man spoke, his voice peculiar but it wasn't something he could put a finger on specifically. Wasp looked him up and down, his high class black suit almost seemed to literally swallow any light that approached it. He shook his head to clear it, a little dazed, and regain his bearings.
“Nice to meet you Stan, and yes I'm Mr. Martins. Thank you so much for taking the time to come and see me, I feel very appreciated. I think I have everything I need though, there's more alcohol here than my body could possibly handle. Unless you can suddenly make me some new friends, I think I'll be okay,” Wasp laughs finding pleasure in his own wittiness. Stan smiles back at him, and nods.
“I could probably arrange that Mr. Martins. Are you sure you don't want anything. We have this one drink I only ever give to SPECIAL customers and considering you are our VIP, I thought you might like to try The Drink. It'd be on the house, a token of our appreciation. I'd just have to take you downstairs so no one knew we had it. They'd be swarming us like flies if they knew we had it,” Stan spoke softly this time and something didn't sit so right with Wasp. True, he was probably just trying not to start any drama in his own club, which being a business owner himself, he totally understood. However Wasp had a match, a very important one, and he wasn't going to mess around with anything so special it was locked away downstairs.
“I appreciate the offer of this special drink Stan, but I'll have to take you up on that offer some other time. I appreciate the hospitality all the same though,” he replied hoping that Stan wouldn't question him any further.
“Not a problem Mr. Martins. That offer for The Drink is good anytime, you just find me. I'll see what I can do about finding you those friends. Have a pleasant evening, and thank you again,” Stan replied and with a wink and a bow he disappeared. If Wasp hadn't been drinking, he would have told everybody he knew that the man had just vanished into thin air, but he chocked it up to the alcohol.
The night was turning out to be great. He was feeling really good, and had no plans on slowing down his consumption. He might even have a few people to drink the booze with if Stan was a man of his word, which he seemed like he would be, suspicious or not. It was a little over the top, sure, but it amused Wasp to no end the irony of it. An over the top party from a man who lived for the most part, the straightest, simplest, boring life, right before an Over The Top match. The irony was all too amusing, especially because he had not planned it that way at all. He needed this good feeling, he wanted to be in a great place when he stepped into the ring for that last chance. It wasn't going to be his last match or anything, he really wanted to use the little momentum he had and push forward, but he wanted to make a statement nonetheless. That Jule “The Wasp” Martins was not a pushover then, and certainly wasn't washed up now. Winning would be lovely, he had to admit, but the goal was to send a message. Winning would only further it.
His mind was elsewhere now though, as not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR gorgeous ladies, friends no doubt, were making their way over to his table. Stan The Man had lived up to his word. Wasp smiled, raised his drink to the air and made a toast. “This one's for you High Tide,” and with that he downed the drink in one go and waited for one crazy night, to get even crazier.
