Post by Kevin on Jan 11, 2013 15:55:33 GMT -6
Donovan Torment gripped his hair, that greasy, stringy mop, with both hands. His eyes bulged behind those coke-bottle glasses, and he gave a long, drawn-out sigh of exasperation. First, he looked to the Space Pharaoh. Space Pharoah Zortalk sat comfortably in a leather easy chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, his Pharonic crown-headdress on his head, sunglasses on his nose. Even if the time periods clashed, you can’t forget style and class.
“Zortalk, do you have any ideas?”, Torment wheedled, hands coming down from his hair. The Manager of Stars was not thrilled with how the talk had gone so far. Omar Wise resolutely sat at the little card table that Boston Bancroft had had set up for them in the study, papers and contracts in front of him. But rather than read the over complicated legalese, Omar was meticulously eating a bag of pistachios, and leaving the shells on the contracts.
“Unless you want me to take him to the Temple of Ra and explain my glorious goals, no. This man seems convinced that I am here to become his undoing, and won’t accept that I am here to capture the hearts and souls of those thousands of potential worshippers.” Zortalk waved a hand dismissively. “It’s alright. Not all can accept that a God-King could be here to simply collect worshippers and spiritual energy.”
Omar just cracked another shell between his thumb and forefinger, then began to peel it away. His lips were pursed, his eyes were squinty with annoyance, and he popped the green nut into his mouth. Mofuckas didn’t get that Omar didn’t want or need any help.
“Omar, seriously, Zortalk doesn’t even want the E-Pro Championship-”, Donovan began.
“Well, let’s not go crazy. I get a shot at it, and... Well, Victory stands for Viewing Important Challenges, Tackling Opportunities Readied Yeasayer”. The Space Pharoah reached into one of the pockets of his Technicolor Dreamcoat, only to pull out a paper bag. “Date? Any of you want a date?”
Donovan shook his head, and stormed over to the little table. He pulled the steel chair out across from Omar, and sat down, staring at Omar’s face. The Assault Breacher Vehicle, a personified weapon of war, wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He was focused on his pistachios. “Omar. I’m not going to stab you in the back. Zortalk is not going to stab you in the back. But with all these little kids running around, all these psychotic girls and drug-addled idiot muscleheads, it would be REALLY, REALLY good for you and I to have someone else on your... OUR side. Imagine, for a moment, if Daisuke, Justin Brooks, Orange Octopus and Abby Park, for example, decided to team up and jump us.”
“I’d break ‘em in half...”, Omar muttered quietly. He dug his fingers into the bag, searching out another pistachio, and as luck would have it, he even found one already removed from its shell! Lucky! Omar poked it into his mouth, still unwilling to look at Donovan.
“But what if, while you were fighting off four people, they had J-Swag and MP3 or someone else jump me? I’ve got tricks up my sleeve, but I can’t fight! Not at the level these wrestlers can!”, Donovan wailed, sitting back in his chair and looking rather constipated. Not a pleasant look.
“Stick ‘em wit’ your spike. Throw salt in their face. Taze ‘em. Whatever, Donovan. I don’t want to work with some freakshow I can’t even trust.”, Omar flatly, bluntly said. And his tone spared no room for argument. It sounded final. Donovan just sighed, hanging his head backwards over the back of the chair.
“Omar. Let me tell you one thing.”, Space Pharoah Zortalk quietly offered. Being addressed directly by this potential threat, Omar turned in his seat, finally looking at Zortalk. “I will never, ever reveal the Wu-Tang Secret.”
Donovan flailed his arms helplessly, exasperated at the nonsense. He needed something solid to try to assuage Omar’s fears. He needed to do something to make this all smooth over. He-
“...Well, why didn’t you say so?” Omar rumbled to his feet like the volcano he represented, turning to face Zortalk directly. A big hand was extended, and Zortalk broke into a grin, slapping his hand into Omar’s. A firm shake was given between the two men, as Donovan sat up, eyes wide.
“Wait, what just happened?”, Donovan cried.
“I’ll make an exception. Zortalk’s okay.”, Omar muttered. As Omar looked to Donovan, Zortalk popped to his feet and clapped Omar on the shoulder. The big man snapped his gaze to Zortalk, who just gave the big man a dazzling grin.
“Your God-King Space Pharoah deems this partnership acceptable. To the closest speakeasy, where we can find loose women and copious drink!” Zortalk extended a hand, fingers spreading as he gestured to the door. Omar gave a thoughtful nod, then began to move forward, the man-mountain beginning a landslide.
“Hey, Can... Uh, Can I come too?”, Donovan quaveringly offered, hopping to his feet and following the two men.
~*~*~
Omar had finally gotten everyone to leave him the christ alone. Donovan had gone off to do contract stuff. Zortalk had gone to secure himself some mortal lodgings in California. Boston and Kalifornia were presumably doing the real business that kept Boston in the money. That allowed Omar to go to his little rinky-dink apartment, close the door securely, and turn on the teevee.
Barkley was in Omar’s lap almost before Omar even sat down, it felt like. He brought his bag of baby carrots to the couch, grabbed his Snuggie(More for Barkley’s benefit than Omar’s warmth), and sat down, pulling the thing on. And as previously stated, Omar sat down and had a cat in his lap in just a few moments. Omar turned the teevee on, ESEN popping up where he had left it.
As the clipreel talked about DEFIANCE Wrestling and the craziness going on with the Untouchables and the Good Fight, Omar just munched a few baby carrots down. Barkley snuggled into Omar’s belly and purred, eyes quickly closing as he transformed to kittyloaf mode.
The little living room didn’t have any furnishings besides the endtable that Omar’s flatscreen sat on, and the couch Omar was sitting on. A few milk crates sat on the breakfast bar alcove goin’ into the kitchen, full of Omar’s spare plates and cooking utensils. All of ‘em were old, chipped, cracked, battered and the like. Fairly typical for possessions of mister Omar Wise.
“This upcoming DEFIANCE World Championship defense promises to be an interesting one. Now, onto a fledgling wrestling company making some serious waves in California. EXODUS Pro has had two highly successful shows in San Diego’s RIMAC Arena, and wait until you see some of the people on the Exodus Pro roster.”
Omar put a hand on Barkley’s back, stroking the cat’s patchwork fur. Barkley’s rumbling purr continued to show his delight at the presence of a lap for him to occupy. The clipreel on the sports channel showed some of Fiona Rourke’s high-flying ways, some of the silliness of the Orange Octopus and Silver Squid... But it stopped with a Superman pose on mister Omar Wise.
Omar sat up a bit more, happy to see a little bit of promotion of himself.
“The first person we’re gonna profile for you is Omar Wise. A rookie still in his first year of wrestling, you wouldn’t believe it by seeing him.”
The speech was overlaid a still, Omar having hoisted Justin Brooks onto his shoulder. The still turned into footage, as Omar-on-the-screen turned and pounded across the ring, hitting the turnbuckles with EARTHSHAKING impact! The cameraman was no dummy, and when the two hit the ‘bucklepads, he even shook the camera for emphasis!
Omar grinned. Hell yes.
“His brutal finisher, the “Shock and Awe”...”
KERWHAM went Brooks, right down into the center of the ring! The camera jumped from the impact, and the whole audience of the RIMAC counted along. One, two, three.
“Is no laughing matter. But where did Omar Wise come from? We’ve looked into his backround to find that he was trained by a name well-known to regular ESEN viewers. Boston Bancroft, former-”
Omar was about to pop a baby carrot into his mouth, when a sharp knocking came from his door. The big man’s face fell, and he sighed heavily. He muted the TV, and moved a greatly annoyed Barkley off his lap, Omar rose to his feet, tossing his Snuggie aside. He stumped over to the apartment’s door, cracking his knuckles. If it was the media, he was going to be angry. If it was a fellow wrestling person, he was likely to hit ‘em.
As he opened the door, he could see that it was, surprisingly, neither. A short, dark-skinned, waifish woman stood on the other side of the door, a measuring cup in her hand. With the door’s security chain still on, he could only get a little glimpse of her, but she was cute. Omar took a moment to evaluate the sitch, then pushed the door mostly shut.
On the other side of the door, the woman pursed her lips. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyebrows, a touch pissed off at the dismiss-
Omar finally got the chain undone and opened the door fully. He was dressed in his sunday best, what with the still-sweaty Gold’s Gym tee-shirt and trackpants he was wearing. Omar felt ever-so-slightly selfconscious. He wasn’t some blushing virgin who never talked to girls... But he sure had trouble starting things. “Uh. Hi.”
“Good!”, the girl crowed. “I thought you were gonna lock the door and be a dick.”
Omar had been so mired in the fuck-the-world mentality since he got to San Diego, he forgot to introduce himself. The girl gave a beautiful grin and stuck a hand out. Not the one with the measuring cup in it. “I’m Tea. I live across the hall from you.”
He brought a mitt the size of a frying pan up, engulfed hers in it, and shook her hand so carefully, it was as if he was handling fine crystal. Or a baby. Or a crystal baby. “Omar.”
“Let me cut to the chase, do you have any sugar I could borrow? I’ll bring over some cookies when they’re done as a trade.” Tea’s eyes roved beyond Omar, into the apartment. An eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, seeing how much of the room she could see. And how he was...
“Wait, are you on TV?” Before Omar even knew what was going on, Tea was inside his apartment, and sashayed over to the couch. And Omar couldn’t help but watch her go. She had a fine behind, and wore those Levis like she was born to. The black blouse she had on was cute... All in all, a very nice package. She rocked a really casual ponytail without looking like she would be happier in sweatpants...
Omar took a few steps into the room as Tea leaned on the back of the couch. “Uh. I don’t have any sugar. Sorry.” But Tea barely heard him. Footage of Omar with the Torture Rack on Justin Brooks continued to play, and Tea grabbed the remote, un-muting the TV.
“-Wise truly showed some impressive stuff in his match at the RIMAC.”
“Wait, that arena by UCSD? What, are you a MMA fighter or something?” Tea turned back to face Omar, her eyes gleaming, that big grin on her lips. “I love watching MMA! You gonna be in the UFC?”
Omar shook his head, hands resting on his hips. He was oddly embarrassed to be explaining his livelihood. “I’m a professional wrestler. Uh, I work for Exodus Pro. It’s still local, but it’s growin’. I’m surprised that ESEN had us... Me on.”
Tea turned back to the TV just in time to catch a much different clip. Omar, one hand on the back of J-Swag’s head, just murdering the poor rapper with brutal muscle, shoving the guy’s head again and again into the locker. “Oh jeez. I thought that wrestling stuff was fake. Guess not.”
She whirled back to face Omar, hitting mute as she did and dumping the remote. “Okay. Bibingka it is. When it’s done, I’ll come over and share it with you, and you’re gonna tell me all about being a wrestler. Deal?”
Omar wasn’t quite sure what he was giving in trade for this deal, but he dumbly nodded. Why had this little... Filipino? Thai? Something... lady gotten him so mixed up? Tea grinned and headed right through the door, closing it behind with a graceful hook of her foot to the bottom corner. As the door clicked shut, Omar glanced to his sole companion. Barkley sat on the back of the couch, and was washing his whiskers.
“What just happened?”, Omar asked to no-one in particular.
”Miaow.”, Barkley replied.
“Zortalk, do you have any ideas?”, Torment wheedled, hands coming down from his hair. The Manager of Stars was not thrilled with how the talk had gone so far. Omar Wise resolutely sat at the little card table that Boston Bancroft had had set up for them in the study, papers and contracts in front of him. But rather than read the over complicated legalese, Omar was meticulously eating a bag of pistachios, and leaving the shells on the contracts.
“Unless you want me to take him to the Temple of Ra and explain my glorious goals, no. This man seems convinced that I am here to become his undoing, and won’t accept that I am here to capture the hearts and souls of those thousands of potential worshippers.” Zortalk waved a hand dismissively. “It’s alright. Not all can accept that a God-King could be here to simply collect worshippers and spiritual energy.”
Omar just cracked another shell between his thumb and forefinger, then began to peel it away. His lips were pursed, his eyes were squinty with annoyance, and he popped the green nut into his mouth. Mofuckas didn’t get that Omar didn’t want or need any help.
“Omar, seriously, Zortalk doesn’t even want the E-Pro Championship-”, Donovan began.
“Well, let’s not go crazy. I get a shot at it, and... Well, Victory stands for Viewing Important Challenges, Tackling Opportunities Readied Yeasayer”. The Space Pharoah reached into one of the pockets of his Technicolor Dreamcoat, only to pull out a paper bag. “Date? Any of you want a date?”
Donovan shook his head, and stormed over to the little table. He pulled the steel chair out across from Omar, and sat down, staring at Omar’s face. The Assault Breacher Vehicle, a personified weapon of war, wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He was focused on his pistachios. “Omar. I’m not going to stab you in the back. Zortalk is not going to stab you in the back. But with all these little kids running around, all these psychotic girls and drug-addled idiot muscleheads, it would be REALLY, REALLY good for you and I to have someone else on your... OUR side. Imagine, for a moment, if Daisuke, Justin Brooks, Orange Octopus and Abby Park, for example, decided to team up and jump us.”
“I’d break ‘em in half...”, Omar muttered quietly. He dug his fingers into the bag, searching out another pistachio, and as luck would have it, he even found one already removed from its shell! Lucky! Omar poked it into his mouth, still unwilling to look at Donovan.
“But what if, while you were fighting off four people, they had J-Swag and MP3 or someone else jump me? I’ve got tricks up my sleeve, but I can’t fight! Not at the level these wrestlers can!”, Donovan wailed, sitting back in his chair and looking rather constipated. Not a pleasant look.
“Stick ‘em wit’ your spike. Throw salt in their face. Taze ‘em. Whatever, Donovan. I don’t want to work with some freakshow I can’t even trust.”, Omar flatly, bluntly said. And his tone spared no room for argument. It sounded final. Donovan just sighed, hanging his head backwards over the back of the chair.
“Omar. Let me tell you one thing.”, Space Pharoah Zortalk quietly offered. Being addressed directly by this potential threat, Omar turned in his seat, finally looking at Zortalk. “I will never, ever reveal the Wu-Tang Secret.”
Donovan flailed his arms helplessly, exasperated at the nonsense. He needed something solid to try to assuage Omar’s fears. He needed to do something to make this all smooth over. He-
“...Well, why didn’t you say so?” Omar rumbled to his feet like the volcano he represented, turning to face Zortalk directly. A big hand was extended, and Zortalk broke into a grin, slapping his hand into Omar’s. A firm shake was given between the two men, as Donovan sat up, eyes wide.
“Wait, what just happened?”, Donovan cried.
“I’ll make an exception. Zortalk’s okay.”, Omar muttered. As Omar looked to Donovan, Zortalk popped to his feet and clapped Omar on the shoulder. The big man snapped his gaze to Zortalk, who just gave the big man a dazzling grin.
“Your God-King Space Pharoah deems this partnership acceptable. To the closest speakeasy, where we can find loose women and copious drink!” Zortalk extended a hand, fingers spreading as he gestured to the door. Omar gave a thoughtful nod, then began to move forward, the man-mountain beginning a landslide.
“Hey, Can... Uh, Can I come too?”, Donovan quaveringly offered, hopping to his feet and following the two men.
~*~*~
Omar had finally gotten everyone to leave him the christ alone. Donovan had gone off to do contract stuff. Zortalk had gone to secure himself some mortal lodgings in California. Boston and Kalifornia were presumably doing the real business that kept Boston in the money. That allowed Omar to go to his little rinky-dink apartment, close the door securely, and turn on the teevee.
Barkley was in Omar’s lap almost before Omar even sat down, it felt like. He brought his bag of baby carrots to the couch, grabbed his Snuggie(More for Barkley’s benefit than Omar’s warmth), and sat down, pulling the thing on. And as previously stated, Omar sat down and had a cat in his lap in just a few moments. Omar turned the teevee on, ESEN popping up where he had left it.
As the clipreel talked about DEFIANCE Wrestling and the craziness going on with the Untouchables and the Good Fight, Omar just munched a few baby carrots down. Barkley snuggled into Omar’s belly and purred, eyes quickly closing as he transformed to kittyloaf mode.
The little living room didn’t have any furnishings besides the endtable that Omar’s flatscreen sat on, and the couch Omar was sitting on. A few milk crates sat on the breakfast bar alcove goin’ into the kitchen, full of Omar’s spare plates and cooking utensils. All of ‘em were old, chipped, cracked, battered and the like. Fairly typical for possessions of mister Omar Wise.
“This upcoming DEFIANCE World Championship defense promises to be an interesting one. Now, onto a fledgling wrestling company making some serious waves in California. EXODUS Pro has had two highly successful shows in San Diego’s RIMAC Arena, and wait until you see some of the people on the Exodus Pro roster.”
Omar put a hand on Barkley’s back, stroking the cat’s patchwork fur. Barkley’s rumbling purr continued to show his delight at the presence of a lap for him to occupy. The clipreel on the sports channel showed some of Fiona Rourke’s high-flying ways, some of the silliness of the Orange Octopus and Silver Squid... But it stopped with a Superman pose on mister Omar Wise.
Omar sat up a bit more, happy to see a little bit of promotion of himself.
“The first person we’re gonna profile for you is Omar Wise. A rookie still in his first year of wrestling, you wouldn’t believe it by seeing him.”
The speech was overlaid a still, Omar having hoisted Justin Brooks onto his shoulder. The still turned into footage, as Omar-on-the-screen turned and pounded across the ring, hitting the turnbuckles with EARTHSHAKING impact! The cameraman was no dummy, and when the two hit the ‘bucklepads, he even shook the camera for emphasis!
Omar grinned. Hell yes.
“His brutal finisher, the “Shock and Awe”...”
KERWHAM went Brooks, right down into the center of the ring! The camera jumped from the impact, and the whole audience of the RIMAC counted along. One, two, three.
“Is no laughing matter. But where did Omar Wise come from? We’ve looked into his backround to find that he was trained by a name well-known to regular ESEN viewers. Boston Bancroft, former-”
Omar was about to pop a baby carrot into his mouth, when a sharp knocking came from his door. The big man’s face fell, and he sighed heavily. He muted the TV, and moved a greatly annoyed Barkley off his lap, Omar rose to his feet, tossing his Snuggie aside. He stumped over to the apartment’s door, cracking his knuckles. If it was the media, he was going to be angry. If it was a fellow wrestling person, he was likely to hit ‘em.
As he opened the door, he could see that it was, surprisingly, neither. A short, dark-skinned, waifish woman stood on the other side of the door, a measuring cup in her hand. With the door’s security chain still on, he could only get a little glimpse of her, but she was cute. Omar took a moment to evaluate the sitch, then pushed the door mostly shut.
On the other side of the door, the woman pursed her lips. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyebrows, a touch pissed off at the dismiss-
Omar finally got the chain undone and opened the door fully. He was dressed in his sunday best, what with the still-sweaty Gold’s Gym tee-shirt and trackpants he was wearing. Omar felt ever-so-slightly selfconscious. He wasn’t some blushing virgin who never talked to girls... But he sure had trouble starting things. “Uh. Hi.”
“Good!”, the girl crowed. “I thought you were gonna lock the door and be a dick.”
Omar had been so mired in the fuck-the-world mentality since he got to San Diego, he forgot to introduce himself. The girl gave a beautiful grin and stuck a hand out. Not the one with the measuring cup in it. “I’m Tea. I live across the hall from you.”
He brought a mitt the size of a frying pan up, engulfed hers in it, and shook her hand so carefully, it was as if he was handling fine crystal. Or a baby. Or a crystal baby. “Omar.”
“Let me cut to the chase, do you have any sugar I could borrow? I’ll bring over some cookies when they’re done as a trade.” Tea’s eyes roved beyond Omar, into the apartment. An eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, seeing how much of the room she could see. And how he was...
“Wait, are you on TV?” Before Omar even knew what was going on, Tea was inside his apartment, and sashayed over to the couch. And Omar couldn’t help but watch her go. She had a fine behind, and wore those Levis like she was born to. The black blouse she had on was cute... All in all, a very nice package. She rocked a really casual ponytail without looking like she would be happier in sweatpants...
Omar took a few steps into the room as Tea leaned on the back of the couch. “Uh. I don’t have any sugar. Sorry.” But Tea barely heard him. Footage of Omar with the Torture Rack on Justin Brooks continued to play, and Tea grabbed the remote, un-muting the TV.
“-Wise truly showed some impressive stuff in his match at the RIMAC.”
“Wait, that arena by UCSD? What, are you a MMA fighter or something?” Tea turned back to face Omar, her eyes gleaming, that big grin on her lips. “I love watching MMA! You gonna be in the UFC?”
Omar shook his head, hands resting on his hips. He was oddly embarrassed to be explaining his livelihood. “I’m a professional wrestler. Uh, I work for Exodus Pro. It’s still local, but it’s growin’. I’m surprised that ESEN had us... Me on.”
Tea turned back to the TV just in time to catch a much different clip. Omar, one hand on the back of J-Swag’s head, just murdering the poor rapper with brutal muscle, shoving the guy’s head again and again into the locker. “Oh jeez. I thought that wrestling stuff was fake. Guess not.”
She whirled back to face Omar, hitting mute as she did and dumping the remote. “Okay. Bibingka it is. When it’s done, I’ll come over and share it with you, and you’re gonna tell me all about being a wrestler. Deal?”
Omar wasn’t quite sure what he was giving in trade for this deal, but he dumbly nodded. Why had this little... Filipino? Thai? Something... lady gotten him so mixed up? Tea grinned and headed right through the door, closing it behind with a graceful hook of her foot to the bottom corner. As the door clicked shut, Omar glanced to his sole companion. Barkley sat on the back of the couch, and was washing his whiskers.
“What just happened?”, Omar asked to no-one in particular.
”Miaow.”, Barkley replied.
