Post by High Tide on Jan 14, 2020 21:58:31 GMT -5
Rum Flavoured Mouthwash
A year and a half.
It had been a long time since he had stepped into the ring in front of the PCW Faithful, he thought to himself, a smile coming to his face unbidden. He hadn't exactly wanted to take a hiatus, after all he loved being in the ring. However, he thought to himself as he grasped the handle of the ornate building in front of him, sometimes life caught up with you. For him “life” happened to be excessive debts and drinking among other things. He wiped his wet boots on the disgustingly bright red carpet as discreetly as he could. He didn't feel at place here. Every man and woman in his immediate line of sight was wearing a fancy suit. He laughed at the stupidity of it all. Right now, he didn't have half of what a nice suit cost.
PCW accepting him back had been the biggest break in his life in a long time. All his assets, his empire, everything was gone. He had a small amount of cash to his name and a couple drinks back home. Not exactly living the high life, but at least his debts were paid off. That was the most important part of it all, he thought to himself, making his way to the back where the elevators were located. Desks were scattered throughout the room, along with some much more comfortable furnishings like expensive leather couches and regal looking armchairs. One man attempted to talk to him, but he dismissed him with a cool nod of his head. He didn't want to be in here any longer than he had to be. He stuck out like a sore thumb.
He hadn't expected PCW to book him so quickly, but he certainly wasn't going to punch a gift horse in the mouth. Would he have liked a month or so to get back into better shape? Of course. Was he able to get in the ring and put on a good performance regardless? Absolutely. It was what he would have to do. He pressed the call button for the elevator repeatedly, becoming more and more impatient. He really didn't like fancy buildings like this, and the sooner he was out the better. The 'ding' of the elevator arriving was a blessing as it opened it's doors to welcome him into it's death trap embrace. He pressed the button that would take him to the fifteenth floor and the doors closed. Now all he could do was wait.
He hated waiting. The last year of his life had been a waiting game, a shitty one at that, he thought to himself adjusting his hat which had starts to slide off to the left a bit too much. Yet due to circumstances the one thing that wasn't a waiting game in his life now, was PCW. A phone call from PCW Management had informed him that due to unfortunate injures to both Brenna Gordon and David Hunter, the number one contender spot for the North American Title was open. What better a way to start off the 9th anniversary show than to have two returning veterans square off for it, they had told him and though he didn't feel deserving, he had to admit it was definitely a hell of an opening match.
And then they had told him who the other returning veteran was. Cory Steel. He smiled to himself as the ticked up past the ninth floor. There was a name he hadn't heard in awhile but was plenty familiar with. Sure as shit the PCW Management had happened to pull a rabbit out of their ass and book the two of them for the opening match at their huge 9th Anniversary show. There was history between the two of them, and he wasn't sure for certain but Cory Steel might have been one of the men he had stepped into the ring against the most in his career. A fitting return, even if he didn't quite feel worthy of the prize that came along with winning the match. He wasn't complaining though; since when did a pirate ever complain about being one step closer to treasure? A treasure he hadn't held in 8 years.
The elevator dinged again, marking it's arrival on the 15th floor (which was really the 14th floor, old superstitions about the 13th floor died hard) and High Tide stepped out smiling. Finally he could get this little meeting over with and be back to more important things like getting ready to prove to himself, to Cory Steel, and to the PCW Faithful that he was still able to perform in the ring. Hell he was ready to prove not only could he perform in the ring but he could WIN in the ring. He smiled as he stepped out of the elevator, his heavy boots clacking against the fancy marble flooring. He took the hallway, littered with photos of important people and important merchandise on the wall, to the left. At the end of a hallway was a door with a nameplate that read CEO – Kevin Rogers. He knocked lightly on the door and heard a voice on the other side telling him to come in. He swung the door open and stepped in.
High Tide had to admit, Kevin Rogers kept a hell of an office. It was expansive beyond the point of being practical. What man needed THREE large desks? The entire back wall of the room was a large window, which had a pretty stellar view of the city. “I won't keep you too long Tide, I know you're returning to the ring soon,” the not known for small talk Kevin Rogers spoke quickly. It was that kind of attitude and get straight to the point attitude that had made him rich in the first place.
High Tide smiled. Good, that made two of them that didn't want this to take all day. “I'm listening, and I swear this better be worth it for you to make me come all the way down here when you could of merely given me a phone call,” he stood his ground. He saw Kevin smile, he knew the rich man enjoyed it when his attitude was matched. It was just as well that Tide was in one of those sorts of moods. He knew all eyes were on him, especially in PCW. He had heard the whispers. 'He's too old. He can't hack it in the ring anymore.' He was more than willing to prove that was true, and he felt it in his bones.
“Well alright since you asked so kindly,” Kevin quipped. “When you were in the most vile depths of your alcoholism, sending me crazy ideas every other day, I mostly ignored them. After all you were consuming more alcohol than even you, the drinker of all drinkers, could handle. However your recent troubles with money had me thinking, and I went through some of the old ideas. High Tide, you may have come across a genius market, for wretches like yourself,” Kevin's voice was cold but calculated.
“Ahh, I see. What would this genius idea of mine be? As you can imagine me being a wretched drunkard doesn't help with the memory too much,” Tide shot back, wondering why he had ever come to this place in the first place.
“Rum flavoured mouthwash.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tide was stunned, both by the fact he had come up with such a ludicrous idea, but that this was Kevin's idea of a huge breakthrough. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to make sure this wasn't some sort of weird dream. It wasn't.
“You heard me High Tide. Rum flavoured mouthwash. You told me yourself when you were at the lowest of lows, you went for the mouthwash. Gave you that little buzz that helped you get back on your feet. Think about it, how much better would that of been if it was rum flavoured? I mean people aren't going to be stopped if they choose foolish stuff like that, and so why not make it a little bit better? Plus I am sure there are regular people using mouthwash the way it was intended that would love a product like this. If I can get the lawyers to push this through, I'll give you a cut. I'll double that cut if you endorse it,” Kevin Rogers cut straight to the point. The terms of the deal.
High Tide pretended to think it over, but he was not in a good place and there was no question in his answer. “Alright, I'll endorse it, or be the mascot, whatever you need,” Tide replied quickly before Kevin changed his mind. He was not a patient man.
“Good, I'm glad we got that settled then. I prefer to do my business face to face. Now, there's no upfront money for this but I've taken the liberty of getting you a gift, since you've agreed to my proposal,” Kevin Rogers replied, grinning for the first time, his damn teeth as white as the three remaining walls. From behind his back he pulled forth and exquisite bottle of wine. The kind rich fancy people took their time drinking. He offered it to Tide who accepted it eagerly. He hadn't tasted anything of such a high standard in a long, long time.
“Thank you, that means a lot,” High Tide replied letting his guard down unintentionally. It really had been a big gesture, if not to Kevin, to him.
“Thank you for the genius idea. I'll contact you when I need you to do something in regards to the product. Now get out of here, I've got other matters to attend to,” Kevin's generosity evaporated as quickly as it had come in. Tide nodded and took the not so subtle hint, clutching the wine as though it was his most prized possession (it was) to his chest. He quickly stepped in the elevator, commanding it to go to the main floor.
His walk home was not long, nor was it eventful. He was pretty wet by the end of it, as it had been raining on and off all day. The most noteworthy event was a dog who had excitedly ran through a puddle, splashing muddy water up onto his coat. The owner didn't notice or acknowledge him. No one really did these days. To be truthful, he was stuck in his head more than observing the walk home anyways. His return match against Cory Steel had big implications, bigger than he could have hoped for. This was not one he wanted to lose.
Finally he arrived at his house, if you could call it that. Approximately ten feet away from a murky, green looking canal was a small building sheltered underneath some trees. It had probably served as some sort of groundskeepers shed twenty, thirty years ago. Now it lay forgotten, lost in the records of time. Not to High Tide though, with times being as hard as they were, this was the perfect, if a bit cold, place for him to live. The building itself was no more than eight feet by six feet, and was starting to rot in parts, the wood not looking as fine as it once had.
He knocked on the wall beside the flimsy door hard, to scare out any animals that may have made their way in. After a couple moments he was satisfied it was empty, and opened the door. There was no working light, so after fumbling around in his pocket for a lighter, he lit a candle that he had placed on a small nightstand. He had emptied out most of the useless, outdated junk, and kept his few possessions inside. Besides the black nightstand he had a large pile of blankets he used as a bed, a couple pillows, a battery powered radio, and some almost empty liquor bottles. A pack of smokes lay on the nightstand where he had halfheartedly thrown it before he left.
He fell into his pile of blankets after removing his boots and coat. Normally he would of rationed out what little alcohol he had left to make it last as long as possible, but he was celebrating tonight. Celebrating the beginning of a new endorsement, the beginning of a new chapter of his PCW Career and if all went well, he would be celebrating his win and new place as the number one contender for the North American title. He popped the cork off the bottle of wine, ducking as the pressure sent it flying. He had one glass, and it was dirty as hell. It would be a drinking from the bottle sort of celebration.
“To rum flavoured mouthwash!” he cheered, clanking the bottle against another invisible bottle, as though he wasn't alone in a shed. He put the bottle to his lips and then drank. Deeply.
