Post by Wasp on Sept 18, 2015 21:38:03 GMT -5
“For fucks sakes where is that stupid swashbuckling wenchfuckling pirate?” Jule Martins cried out in frustration, slamming the receiver of a payphone down for what had to have been near to the fiftieth time that week. The damn machine had not only eaten all of his quarters (and it was fifty cents to make a local call now), but not once had it put him in contact with his tag team partner. High Tide had assured him that this was his “you can reach me anytime” number, but yet it hadn't been answered in over a week.
He stepped out of the booth and walked furiously to the corner store. He had quit smoking awhile back, but now his old legs directed him there, for all he could think about was how glorious a cigarette would be. He was pissed, beyond pissed. He hadn't been in a match for awhile, and while he was thankful for the vacation, he also had expected Tide would want to practice and train together before a match with a team that was of the quality and caliber that Tha UnHoly Alliance were. Of course not, he thought to himself swinging the door open and almost knocking a kid over in the process, he's probably out getting drunk, stoned, and diseases.
He didn't even know if Tide was going to show up for the match! That's how little contact he had recently with him. There was no reason for the pirate to be mad at him, nor was there any reason for him not to show up to the ring, but he was worried. He had never not reached High Tide on his phone before, not a single time he had called had it gone past two rings, whether Tide was engaged in coitus, taking a shit, or even sleeping. Not a single time.
He quickly bought the cigarettes, a pack of Marlboros king size and a lighter, from the small, scared looking teenager working the till. He happened to notice that he had received exactly two quarters in his change, and he thought to himself, what the hell why not frustrate myself some more and try to call High Tide again. Looking like an absolute lunatic (had anyone been watching him, which unbeknownst to him, a couple of sets of eyes were indeed watching him), he marched back to the payphone. Once inside the tiny little booth he ignored the sign, opened his pack of cigarettes and lit up,huffing and puffing away like the Big Bad Wolf. He jammed the quarters in and dialed the number. It ranged once, and then a second time, and as Wasp was thinking about hanging up, a voice stopped him before the third ring.
“Hello? Wasp, is that you my friend?”
Wasp dropped the phone and in his frenzied attempts to retrieve it before High Tide hung up, he ended up burning himself twice, once on his left arm, and once on his neck with his cigarette. He managed to scramble the slippery, germ-ridden phone up to his ear and breathed out “Hello, Tide, it's me, Wasp,” followed by a hacking cough.
“Wasp my friend, we don't have much time before our match, we should meet. I NEED us to have a good match, no questions asked. Things have been hot around here lately, but I can explain more to you later when we meet. Are you smoking again? It doesn't matter, but don't smoke too many, I need your old ass to be in tip top walk the plank shape before the match. I INSIST that you meet me at the bar that we don't talk about because we don't want people to find out, if you remember such a thing. I will explain everything there. I don't have time, I think I'm being followed. Please meet me there. Thanks brother.” With that the line clicked and Wasp screamed into the phone hoping that Tide would answer him even though he knew in his heart that he wouldn't reply.
Wasp didn't even bother to hang up the phone, only to drop his mostly smoked cigarette on the ground, before he dashed out of the phonebooth, running full speed in the direction of the secret coded place High Tide had cryptically mentioned to him. He was so caught up in his thoughts of whether Tide had been captured, killed, or just forced to move from where he was, that he didn't even notice the team of black clad individuals who entered the phonebooth after him with intent. The same black clad men whose eyes had rested solely on the one man they knew would have contact at some point with a man named High Tide.
He stepped out of the booth and walked furiously to the corner store. He had quit smoking awhile back, but now his old legs directed him there, for all he could think about was how glorious a cigarette would be. He was pissed, beyond pissed. He hadn't been in a match for awhile, and while he was thankful for the vacation, he also had expected Tide would want to practice and train together before a match with a team that was of the quality and caliber that Tha UnHoly Alliance were. Of course not, he thought to himself swinging the door open and almost knocking a kid over in the process, he's probably out getting drunk, stoned, and diseases.
He didn't even know if Tide was going to show up for the match! That's how little contact he had recently with him. There was no reason for the pirate to be mad at him, nor was there any reason for him not to show up to the ring, but he was worried. He had never not reached High Tide on his phone before, not a single time he had called had it gone past two rings, whether Tide was engaged in coitus, taking a shit, or even sleeping. Not a single time.
He quickly bought the cigarettes, a pack of Marlboros king size and a lighter, from the small, scared looking teenager working the till. He happened to notice that he had received exactly two quarters in his change, and he thought to himself, what the hell why not frustrate myself some more and try to call High Tide again. Looking like an absolute lunatic (had anyone been watching him, which unbeknownst to him, a couple of sets of eyes were indeed watching him), he marched back to the payphone. Once inside the tiny little booth he ignored the sign, opened his pack of cigarettes and lit up,huffing and puffing away like the Big Bad Wolf. He jammed the quarters in and dialed the number. It ranged once, and then a second time, and as Wasp was thinking about hanging up, a voice stopped him before the third ring.
“Hello? Wasp, is that you my friend?”
Wasp dropped the phone and in his frenzied attempts to retrieve it before High Tide hung up, he ended up burning himself twice, once on his left arm, and once on his neck with his cigarette. He managed to scramble the slippery, germ-ridden phone up to his ear and breathed out “Hello, Tide, it's me, Wasp,” followed by a hacking cough.
“Wasp my friend, we don't have much time before our match, we should meet. I NEED us to have a good match, no questions asked. Things have been hot around here lately, but I can explain more to you later when we meet. Are you smoking again? It doesn't matter, but don't smoke too many, I need your old ass to be in tip top walk the plank shape before the match. I INSIST that you meet me at the bar that we don't talk about because we don't want people to find out, if you remember such a thing. I will explain everything there. I don't have time, I think I'm being followed. Please meet me there. Thanks brother.” With that the line clicked and Wasp screamed into the phone hoping that Tide would answer him even though he knew in his heart that he wouldn't reply.
Wasp didn't even bother to hang up the phone, only to drop his mostly smoked cigarette on the ground, before he dashed out of the phonebooth, running full speed in the direction of the secret coded place High Tide had cryptically mentioned to him. He was so caught up in his thoughts of whether Tide had been captured, killed, or just forced to move from where he was, that he didn't even notice the team of black clad individuals who entered the phonebooth after him with intent. The same black clad men whose eyes had rested solely on the one man they knew would have contact at some point with a man named High Tide.