Post by Wasp on Mar 22, 2013 11:15:38 GMT -5
It was snowing again and so the sound of the heavy steps of Jule Martins were muffled by the soft snow beneath his feet. It was fresh snow, and so every step he took he made this snow's first boot hole. A hole for other's to tread through as they too braved the snow after he had already been through here. Snow meant that the town was quiet, and he was happy for that. For what he had planned, he hoped no one would see until it was absolutely neccessary.
He had let not only himself down during his last match at Trauma, but he had let down The Flying Freebooters too. Going into the three way elimination match against Nathan Saniti and Q, and The New Breed, losing to one half of each team was unacceptable. This time though the belts were on the line, and there could be and would be no losing. He would not allow it, even if it meant he had to do things a different way than he had originally planned.
He had lost when he was trying to make a point, that he should be the leader of the Flying Freebooters. However, not only had he lost, but his partner High Tide had won as well. He kicked out at the nearest sandbank that had formed; the rumbling on the street was the telltale sign that the plows were out in full force already. It was going to be a heavy snowfall. Yet it would not be as heavy as the feeling of disappointment he had in himself. Maybe he wasn't cut out for being a leader, not just yet anyways. And yet, he was a veteran compared to his friend John. It did not make sense, and he could only shake his head, making sure to remove the cigarette from his mouth before he did.
The rest of the walk was not far, and he was thankful for that as the snow drifted around in the air, stinging at his eyes and his skin. He hated the damn stuff. By the time he had arrived the cigarette that had hung from his mouth was reduce to nothing more than a filter, doing more than it's fair share of work in calming down "The Wasp". He stood in front of a small, one story building. The red brickwork on the outside was weatherstained and taggers had left their spray paint signatures upon it. It looked as though it had seen better days, but Wasp knew the exterior was not indicative of the inside, a place he had been to many times before with his friend Tide.
He swung open the chipped brown door, and stepped inside. It smelled how it always did, a mixture of elderly perfume and cats. Inside was a wide array of goods, everything from clothes for every size and both genders, record players and those stereos people use to buy in the 90's, to old 1970's televisions. Yes, he, the Wasp had entered a thrift shop, and he was not ashamed to admit it. He did not hide his face, for his mission was far to important for that.
He quickly passed the cookware section with only fleeting interest, his main goal to get to the nearby section of clothing. Indeed it was the largest section, and the most organized. He rifled through the racks quickly, only stopping to assure a white haired employee named Gladys, that he did not need any assitance and that he appreciated the offer. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was thankful that most of the pieces were easy to find. He had almost given up on a hat, however hiding in with the socks was just the hat he needed, and it was only ninety nine cents.
He made his way to the changerooms. There were only two in the store, and they were cramped as all hell. Wasp had to wait for a woman younger than him, with dark black hair to step out in an ugly floral dress, and he could not contain his laughter. The man, no doubt her boyfriend or lover, gave him a dirty look before lieing to the woman, telling her she looked good in the dress.
"She'd look a lot better out of it," Wasp snickered and he could see the man clench his fists, fighting back his rage. He had to give the man credit, lesser men would have been provoked. However, Wasp did not have time for this, and before the woman could protest he went into the change room. The woman's pink tank top and blue jeans had been thrown messily on the floor, and so he treated them as such as he sent them sailing over the top of the door. He quickly stripped down and changed into his attire.
He looked at himself in the small mirror attatched to the side of the small space. He had to admit he looked damn good in this new style. His muscled figure was enhanced by the vest he wore, and the dark pants looked just as good. The eyepatch was a nice touch, but it wouldn't suit him in the ring. The final piece was the pirate hat, a skull and crossbones design squarely in the middle of the ridiculous hat. Yes, Wasp was now dressed as a pirate. He had failed in his quest for leadership, and the only thing he could do now was commit himself fully to the Flying Freebooters. If that meant submitting to Tide's leadership and dressing as a pirate, so be it, as long as those titles remained in their hands.
Not planning to change out of the pirate gear, he stepped out of the change room. The woman pushed by him angrily, and the man was still standing there, fists clenched. However one look at Wasp had the angry man laughing. "What are you supposed to be, a ghetto welfare pirate? Come on man, you look like a fucking idiot. What are you trying to be like that clown, High Tide?" the man laughed, spittle flying from his lips as he did.
However the man's laughter soon turned to a shout, a mixture of surprise and pain. Wasp brought a knee up to connect with the soft flesh of the man's stomach. He heard him try to draw breath, but fail as the wind was knocked out of him. Normally Wasp would have let it go at that, the man clearly questioning his decision to insult Wasp, but he had also insulted High Tide. He picked up the kneeling man as easily as one might lift a loaf of bread and sent him flying into a cluster of mirrors where he crashed, knocking the mirrors down and breaking quite a few.
To the man's credit he regained his footing quickly and charged angrily at Wasp. This was exactly what the PCW Superstar had been expecting, and he sent him to la la land with a Great White North superkick right to the chin. By now the old ladies who worked there were starting to get anxious, one had her hand on the receiver of an old black corded telephone, unsure whether or not to call the police. Wasp quickly made the decision for her, slowly walking over and taking the receiver from her gently, and setting it down with equal care.
He handed her a hundred dollar bill. "This should be more than enough to cover any expenses I might have incurred, and I apologize for such," the wrestler nodded to the woman and she gave him a small, knowing smile. He walked back over to the fallen man, his woman now kneeling down before him. As he approached she looked up at him.
"Leave him alone, haven't you hurt him enough?!" she shrieked sounding like a mad woman gone crazy.
"When he wakes up from his nap, just tell him one little thing. I am NOT High Tide," Wasp spat, his voice full of enough venom to cause the woman to shrink back in fear, the unconscious man forgotten temporarily. Then without another word, Wasp turned and left the thrift shop. His mission had been accomplished, he was now ready to commit himself fully to the task at hand, defending the titles at Mass Destruction 3. There would be no more internal struggle; Wasp now realized that the two of them needed to be the strongest team they could be. The New Breed would soon find out why sometimes old is better than new.
He had let not only himself down during his last match at Trauma, but he had let down The Flying Freebooters too. Going into the three way elimination match against Nathan Saniti and Q, and The New Breed, losing to one half of each team was unacceptable. This time though the belts were on the line, and there could be and would be no losing. He would not allow it, even if it meant he had to do things a different way than he had originally planned.
He had lost when he was trying to make a point, that he should be the leader of the Flying Freebooters. However, not only had he lost, but his partner High Tide had won as well. He kicked out at the nearest sandbank that had formed; the rumbling on the street was the telltale sign that the plows were out in full force already. It was going to be a heavy snowfall. Yet it would not be as heavy as the feeling of disappointment he had in himself. Maybe he wasn't cut out for being a leader, not just yet anyways. And yet, he was a veteran compared to his friend John. It did not make sense, and he could only shake his head, making sure to remove the cigarette from his mouth before he did.
The rest of the walk was not far, and he was thankful for that as the snow drifted around in the air, stinging at his eyes and his skin. He hated the damn stuff. By the time he had arrived the cigarette that had hung from his mouth was reduce to nothing more than a filter, doing more than it's fair share of work in calming down "The Wasp". He stood in front of a small, one story building. The red brickwork on the outside was weatherstained and taggers had left their spray paint signatures upon it. It looked as though it had seen better days, but Wasp knew the exterior was not indicative of the inside, a place he had been to many times before with his friend Tide.
He swung open the chipped brown door, and stepped inside. It smelled how it always did, a mixture of elderly perfume and cats. Inside was a wide array of goods, everything from clothes for every size and both genders, record players and those stereos people use to buy in the 90's, to old 1970's televisions. Yes, he, the Wasp had entered a thrift shop, and he was not ashamed to admit it. He did not hide his face, for his mission was far to important for that.
He quickly passed the cookware section with only fleeting interest, his main goal to get to the nearby section of clothing. Indeed it was the largest section, and the most organized. He rifled through the racks quickly, only stopping to assure a white haired employee named Gladys, that he did not need any assitance and that he appreciated the offer. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he was thankful that most of the pieces were easy to find. He had almost given up on a hat, however hiding in with the socks was just the hat he needed, and it was only ninety nine cents.
He made his way to the changerooms. There were only two in the store, and they were cramped as all hell. Wasp had to wait for a woman younger than him, with dark black hair to step out in an ugly floral dress, and he could not contain his laughter. The man, no doubt her boyfriend or lover, gave him a dirty look before lieing to the woman, telling her she looked good in the dress.
"She'd look a lot better out of it," Wasp snickered and he could see the man clench his fists, fighting back his rage. He had to give the man credit, lesser men would have been provoked. However, Wasp did not have time for this, and before the woman could protest he went into the change room. The woman's pink tank top and blue jeans had been thrown messily on the floor, and so he treated them as such as he sent them sailing over the top of the door. He quickly stripped down and changed into his attire.
He looked at himself in the small mirror attatched to the side of the small space. He had to admit he looked damn good in this new style. His muscled figure was enhanced by the vest he wore, and the dark pants looked just as good. The eyepatch was a nice touch, but it wouldn't suit him in the ring. The final piece was the pirate hat, a skull and crossbones design squarely in the middle of the ridiculous hat. Yes, Wasp was now dressed as a pirate. He had failed in his quest for leadership, and the only thing he could do now was commit himself fully to the Flying Freebooters. If that meant submitting to Tide's leadership and dressing as a pirate, so be it, as long as those titles remained in their hands.
Not planning to change out of the pirate gear, he stepped out of the change room. The woman pushed by him angrily, and the man was still standing there, fists clenched. However one look at Wasp had the angry man laughing. "What are you supposed to be, a ghetto welfare pirate? Come on man, you look like a fucking idiot. What are you trying to be like that clown, High Tide?" the man laughed, spittle flying from his lips as he did.
However the man's laughter soon turned to a shout, a mixture of surprise and pain. Wasp brought a knee up to connect with the soft flesh of the man's stomach. He heard him try to draw breath, but fail as the wind was knocked out of him. Normally Wasp would have let it go at that, the man clearly questioning his decision to insult Wasp, but he had also insulted High Tide. He picked up the kneeling man as easily as one might lift a loaf of bread and sent him flying into a cluster of mirrors where he crashed, knocking the mirrors down and breaking quite a few.
To the man's credit he regained his footing quickly and charged angrily at Wasp. This was exactly what the PCW Superstar had been expecting, and he sent him to la la land with a Great White North superkick right to the chin. By now the old ladies who worked there were starting to get anxious, one had her hand on the receiver of an old black corded telephone, unsure whether or not to call the police. Wasp quickly made the decision for her, slowly walking over and taking the receiver from her gently, and setting it down with equal care.
He handed her a hundred dollar bill. "This should be more than enough to cover any expenses I might have incurred, and I apologize for such," the wrestler nodded to the woman and she gave him a small, knowing smile. He walked back over to the fallen man, his woman now kneeling down before him. As he approached she looked up at him.
"Leave him alone, haven't you hurt him enough?!" she shrieked sounding like a mad woman gone crazy.
"When he wakes up from his nap, just tell him one little thing. I am NOT High Tide," Wasp spat, his voice full of enough venom to cause the woman to shrink back in fear, the unconscious man forgotten temporarily. Then without another word, Wasp turned and left the thrift shop. His mission had been accomplished, he was now ready to commit himself fully to the task at hand, defending the titles at Mass Destruction 3. There would be no more internal struggle; Wasp now realized that the two of them needed to be the strongest team they could be. The New Breed would soon find out why sometimes old is better than new.
