People often bitched about being on the road for extended periods of time... Now compared to Promotional photoshoots, Paperwork for Make-a-Wish foundation (And not actually granting wishes just yet), merchandise approval, long, dragging creative meetings; Touring the country with nothing but a change of clothes and backpacks full of wrestling gear, pockets full of money sounded like a never ending dream. it had just started for Roman Reigns.
For Roman, it was one of those weeks... And in order to wash away the paperwork taste from his mouth, he decided to hit a local watering hole. Now we're sailing in the turbulent waters of copyright... So no, the bar isn't named "Moe's", "The Drunken Clam" nor "The Hog's head" (A name that Lance Storm would've enjoyed). Sitting over at the bar, clad in a black V necked T-shirt and gray pants with black boots, our protagonist held a short glass with an amber colored fluid and a couple of ice cubes sunken at the bottom of it. Bringing the edge of the glass towards his lips, Roman took a gulp from the glass, feeling the burning hot sensation purging his torso from the office week he was having. A smirk curved upon his lips at the thought of the Weekend house shows and the televised episode of Warfare he was partaking in. His opponent for the night was Alex Riley, a guy who needed no introduction. After all, you don't talk about the bugs you squash when you walk down the street, do you?
His train of thought had left him as the bartender's eyes landed upon him. Her honey colored eyes complimented her dark blonde hair, natural curls cascading down the sides of a chiseled, freckled face. Roman looked down at his glass, now completely empty.
Bartender: Everything okay here? Might I offer you another drink sir?
Roman Reigns: I got work tomorrow, what the hell.
He gently tapped the short glass against the wooden bar. The girl nodded and slowly reached out for the glass. Before her slender fingers could reach out, Roman's arm was pushed forward by someone, making it fall onto the floor and shatter into several pieces. Roman tried to keep his cool and looked over his shoulder. A man had just pushed him and caused him to break the glass. Roman turned towards the bartender to apologize, but noticed she was piercing a hole through the responsible man.
Man: Sorry there, brother.
The obnoxious man continued hitting the Samoan Superman with open palms.
Man: Woah, aren't you a muscle mountain!
The man offered a cocky smirk, Roman was not impressed. The guy's breath of cheap alcohol hit his nostrils as he introduced himself.
Man: My name is Richard Jones. I'd give you my card, but I've been in a dozen of meetings this afternoon and I ran out of them.
Richard Jones was clad in the cheapest of suits, bad cut, worse fabric and don't even get me started on the fir. Flamboyant navy blue suit with an orange jacket and a pistachio colored tie which looked like cheap silk. Somebody has been watching too much "Better call Saul". Roman's focus shifted towards the bartender, she didn't seem to like him, not one bit.
Richard Jones: Come on Chloe! Is that the way to greet your best customer?
Bartender: If by "best customer" you mean largest unpaid tab...
The female bartender scoffed and walked away from Mr. Jones, who nonchalantly and unceremoniously took a seat next to Roman. Roman shrugged, after all it was a free country.
Richard Jones: I don't think I got your name.
Roman Reigns: I don't think you'd need it.
The man laughed.
Richard Jones: Are you an athlete? You certainly look like one. I'm actually a talent agent on my free time. I could get you a trial with the Seahawks, the Sounders, or the Mariners! I can get you on the pitch for a minuscule representation fee of around...
Roman Reigns: Not interested.
The obnoxious man scoffed.
Richard Jones: Of course you're not interested, you fail to realize the implications of allowing me to get you a tryout. I know all the right people and with the right moves you could be the next big thing! You could be the biggest athlete in this city!
Roman already knew what to do in order to be the next big thing. He had nothing to say. Tension built for a few moments before the colorful dressed man noticed a woman across the room, he shrugged.
Richard Jones: You know what they say... Time is money, kid. If you don't want my services I'll move along... My girlfriend is here... Now if you excuse me...
The colorful office clown swayed between bar folks until reaching the other room. Roman examined his every move without saying much. Chloe, the bartender joined Roman again, placing a brand new glass of whisky in front of him
Bartender: His name is indeed Richard Jones, he works a couple of blocks away from here. Where? We don't know exactly... Doing what? He switches up his version every time. There are times when he calls himself an agent... Other times he dubs himself a consultant... I've heard him refer to himself as 'coach' a couple of weeks ago.
Roman Reigns: I'm surprised he doesn't go by 'Dick' these days.
Roman listened carefully as he took another sip of his drink. The bartender smiled.
Bartender: The girl is Called Kathleen or Katherine... Poor girl has been putting up with him for months.
Roman Reigns: His Girlfriend?
Bartender: He wishes. As a matter of fact he's told everyone in this bar she is his girlfriend. From what I've heard and seen, that poor little girl has been doing nothing but cutting off his advances... Yet he still returns, he asks her out, he recites corny pick up lines from the other side of the bar to get her attention, all of them to no avail.
Roman shook his head.
Roman Reigns: Some are chick magnets, some are chick repellents I guess.
Bartenders: Where do you leave deluded fools?
A smirk curved upon his lips. That was an easy question: On the canvas, knocked out cold. Luckily for him there was a deluded fool who was crossing paths with him in the near future. Alex Riley... Would he really want to talk about Alex Riley with this bartender? It'd be the most cliché scene since... Well, ever. Not to mention talking about the leader of the Varsity Club would spoil the taste of a pretty good whisky... Roman finished up his drink and proceeded to pay the check. As he made his way out of the bar, his ears would catch bits of the conversation between Dick and his "Girlfriend".
"C'mon, don't be like that... I know you're my favorite gal..."
"I Barely know you..."
"Well, that's because you're always turning me down on dates"
"Because I don't really like you... I told you before... And I tell you every time you send me those e-mails... Please don't"
"Come on... Are you going to pass on the possibility of eternal and true love?"
"I'm literally this close to changing my cellphone number and my address..."
"Babe... Please don't say that."
"Why are you calling me babe?"
Roman walked past the guy, seeing him metaphorically knelt before the woman, begging for attention. Supplicating for a bone to be thrown his way, like the lost dog he was. Now I wish I could say Roman kicked the living crap out of this good for nothing, colorful, lying, conniving sack full of shit, but we're not doing cliché remember? Plus, how cannot a bar brawl end with either man behind bars? I can tell you how it WON'T END. Roman catching bullets between his ankles... That's stupid. Not as stupid as planning to destroy your opponent while having butter pecan syrup over pancakes... Do you imagine Ric Flair, Harley Race, Bruno FUCKING Sammartino discussing their careers over morning pancakes? The thought caused Roman to smirk as he walked past Dick, waving "Time is money..." he said as he walked through the doors.
EBWF.net EXCLUSIVE.
Static could be heard as the night vision of the camera was activated. Our protagonist seemed to be the one in control of the camera, holding it aimed straight in his face while he looked right into the lens. His light brown colored eyes almost glowing in the darkness enhancing filter of the camera. His ice cold facial expression suddenly shifted to a fake looking out, as if he was concerned.
Roman Reigns: What is it I hear? Laughter? Coming from EBWFs laughing stock himself... Alex Riley. Alex Riley and his cheerleaders have the nerve of parading around, beating their chests like war drums... Because they blindsided The Miz? I don't see the fun in that. The way I see it... The Varsity Club knew deep down they didn't stand a fighting chance against Miz and to even the odds they chose to attack from the back. Now, now... I'm not here to talk about your lack of codes and absence of cojones... You made that statement very clear last week. You're soft... Soft as those Pancakes you were munching on earlier today... Was Chuck E. Cheese's closed?
Roman paused briefly.
Roman Reigns: I have no time for you, Alex. I have no time for your buddy cheerleaders. I have no time for pointless, borderline ridiculous high school drama. No one cares about Chalkboards, about sport events, no one cares about how many girls you kissed behind the 10th graders bathroom in fourth period. Are you really that delusional? Are you really that uncomfortable with your reality... The fact that at age 36 you're still parading in your Jock football jacket, mocking people in a feeble attempt to draw us all back to your high school days? You must live a pretty uneventful life if your day by day routine includes making us all put up with your high school jokes and your juvenile behavior.
Roman shrugged.
Roman Reigns: I can't blame you... We all know when you first debuted alongside Scotty Goldman, we knew who was the 'Marty Janetty' of the tag team. Now, you think you're on top of the world... Desperate to make yourself relevant like a promiscuous teenager before the prom night. We've all heard it... I wasn't even around for King of the Ring and I am well aware of your teenager bitchfit from a couple of weeks ago.
Roman paused for the capacity crowd reaction.
Roman Reigns: Here you are... Two weeks later, still bitching, still moaning, still laughing at... I can't honestly tell what are you laughing at; unless you find the fact that I'm going to Superman Punch you all the way back to summer school amusing. Here you are Alex: Completely empty handed. And there's not enough syrup to sweeten this bitter moment for you. Since you're nothing but a delusional middle aged man whose 10 year old mind never got through the fact that high school is over... I'll make it easy for you to understand.
Roman cleared his throat as he looked straight into the camera.
Roman Reigns: Alex Riley, If EBWF was a playground, your lunch money would be mine... My assignments would be done by you; you whining little bitch.
Roman tilted his head to the side.
Roman It is a Fa: Now, I have to give credit where credit is due, Alex. You look like you can put up a decent 10 minute showing in that ring tonight. If you were a true Varsity Wrestler, you would know what having Pancakes and Syrup before wrestling does to your reflexes... Then again I'm the dumb one, right? You parade around in a letterman's jacket... Then again I'm the one who looks stupid. Right? There's something that can be done about that loud mouth of yours Alex... A pretty simple solution to all of your problems: How about I put my fist on your jaw as hard as I can, see if I can knock some sense into that brick head of yours... Maybe then you can finally let go of your high school fantasy and begin to worry about bigger things than laughing with your idiotic friends and bitching about why things aren't handed down to you. The only thing you are going to be handed tonight is a Spear right through your mid section Alex... And trust me, this is not a matter of belief. It's a FACT.
Roman dropped the camera as the scene faded to black with a thud.
