Post by vastrix on Feb 8, 2021 18:20:10 GMT -5
At a local dive bar, Nathan Parker and Michael Dundee are at the bar. Nathan has a bottle of whiskey in front of him with a glass while Michael has a soda. Nathan empties his glass of whiskey into his gullyhole and refills it.
Parker: I have a championship match coming up against Frank Dylan James. It’s for the Southern States championship to be specific.
Dundee: Weird that there would be a Southern States championship when we don’t leave Louisiana often.
Parker: Frank Dylan James. Who goes by their middle name like that? Serial killers that’s who. You don’t see me going around parading my middle name like some psycho. Do you?
Dundee: You know, I don’t see it very often. Hey, what is your middle name?
Nathan shrugs and takes another drink of whiskey, polishing off the glass again and refilling it.
Parker: I don’t remember. Probably Danger. What’s yours?
Dundee: We don’t need to talk about that right now. Well, what about this Frank Dylan James? You know anything about him?
Parker: I know that he’s a large, psychotic monster who loves to dish out the pain with his fists. Hell, he loves running over his fans on the way to the ring. Some of these “fans” even like it when he runs them over.
Dundee: So then, what are you going to do to prepare for him?
Nathan finishes his drink and just seizes the bottle, popping off the easy pour spout so that he can drink directly from the bottle.
Parker: I’m going to find the biggest fucker around here and kick his fucking ass. That’s how I’ll prepare.
Nathan finishes the bottle and spins around on his bar stool. He looks around the bar for a few minutes before he finds his quarry at the other end of the bar sitting in a booth.
Parker: He seems big enough.
Dundee: Okay, have fun.
Nathan hops down from his barstool, lighting a cigarette. He walks over to the booth to where the man is eating a fried chicken dinner and drinking a couple of cold brews while minding his own business. Nathan blows smoke into the man’s face, causing him to cough and carry on like he’s about to die.
Man: Could you maybe not do that? I’m allergic to smoke.
Nathan nods like he agreed, but takes another long drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke into the man’s face again. The man coughs dramatically again and gives Nathan a baleful stare.
Man: Are we going to have a problem? You need to put that cigarette out and walk away from me.
Parker: Fine. I’ll put my cigarette out…
Nathan drops the cigarette into the man’s glass of beer. [/font]
The man just looks at his ruined glass of beer, almost as if he were going to cry.
Parker: Maybe I’m looking to have a problem, Bubba.
The man pushes the table in the booth back suddenly and stands up with a snarl. Nathan looks UP as the man stands up. He stands nearly seven feet tall while being nearly just as broad. So probably four hundred pounds.
Yeah, Nathan picked a man that’s nearly two of him.
Man: It’s a funny thing that you called me Bubba, shrimp. I had a bitch just like you that I used in prison.
Parker: Oh fuck.
Several punches later, Michael picks up his soda as Nathan is sent sliding across the bar to land on the floor on the opposite side of the bar. The man, Bubba as Nathan called him, starts walking around the bar to go finish the job. Michael holds up a restraining hand after he sets his soda down. The man stops and sneers at him.
Man: What? You want some too?
Dundee: No, but I have to inform you that my friend is drunk and doesn’t think things through when he carries out these plans of his. He’s getting ready for a wrestling match and thought that kicking your ass would help get him ready for his match.
The man punches his own hand with an evil grin.
Man: Well, he gonna have to try to think with his asshole cause that’s where his brain gon be when I bash him in the head. Maybe he be ready for his match then.
Dundee: Could you maybe not? I could offer you a ten percent discount at my food truck for a one time purchase.
The man looks at Michael Dundee closely as if trying to remember who exactly he is. He still looks threatening as he leans down.
Man: You that guy who has the food truck for cats?
Dundee: Yes?
The man stands up, his whole demeanor changed to a wide, happy grin.
Man: That’s just sooo awesome! My Tootsie has been wanting to eat the food from that place! I’ll be sure to come out to get something.
Nathan Parker uses the bar to help him stand up, the whole side of his face looking like it’s turning purple and swollen. He uses the bar to help him stand somewhat upright while he looks to the man.
Parker: You...you should come say...you should come say that to my face!
Man: Say what?
Nathan falls directly to the floor, out like a light. Michael shrugs, walking over to the fallen Nathan, and takes his wallet.
Dundee: Can I offer you a replacement beer? I mean, it’s only fair since he ruined your last one.
Man: Why, I would love one!
Michael puts some money on the table.
Dundee: Get that man a new beer and I will need some help getting Nathan to his truck.
Man: Oh, I can help with that.
Dundee: Just slop him into the bed of the truck. He’ll be alright.
Man: Will do.
The man picks Nathan up and carries him out of the bar while Michael finishes his soda and follows so that he can point out the truck.
Parker: I have a championship match coming up against Frank Dylan James. It’s for the Southern States championship to be specific.
Dundee: Weird that there would be a Southern States championship when we don’t leave Louisiana often.
Parker: Frank Dylan James. Who goes by their middle name like that? Serial killers that’s who. You don’t see me going around parading my middle name like some psycho. Do you?
Dundee: You know, I don’t see it very often. Hey, what is your middle name?
Nathan shrugs and takes another drink of whiskey, polishing off the glass again and refilling it.
Parker: I don’t remember. Probably Danger. What’s yours?
Dundee: We don’t need to talk about that right now. Well, what about this Frank Dylan James? You know anything about him?
Parker: I know that he’s a large, psychotic monster who loves to dish out the pain with his fists. Hell, he loves running over his fans on the way to the ring. Some of these “fans” even like it when he runs them over.
Dundee: So then, what are you going to do to prepare for him?
Nathan finishes his drink and just seizes the bottle, popping off the easy pour spout so that he can drink directly from the bottle.
Parker: I’m going to find the biggest fucker around here and kick his fucking ass. That’s how I’ll prepare.
Nathan finishes the bottle and spins around on his bar stool. He looks around the bar for a few minutes before he finds his quarry at the other end of the bar sitting in a booth.
Parker: He seems big enough.
Dundee: Okay, have fun.
Nathan hops down from his barstool, lighting a cigarette. He walks over to the booth to where the man is eating a fried chicken dinner and drinking a couple of cold brews while minding his own business. Nathan blows smoke into the man’s face, causing him to cough and carry on like he’s about to die.
Man: Could you maybe not do that? I’m allergic to smoke.
Nathan nods like he agreed, but takes another long drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke into the man’s face again. The man coughs dramatically again and gives Nathan a baleful stare.
Man: Are we going to have a problem? You need to put that cigarette out and walk away from me.
Parker: Fine. I’ll put my cigarette out…
Nathan drops the cigarette into the man’s glass of beer. [/font]
The man just looks at his ruined glass of beer, almost as if he were going to cry.
Parker: Maybe I’m looking to have a problem, Bubba.
The man pushes the table in the booth back suddenly and stands up with a snarl. Nathan looks UP as the man stands up. He stands nearly seven feet tall while being nearly just as broad. So probably four hundred pounds.
Yeah, Nathan picked a man that’s nearly two of him.
Man: It’s a funny thing that you called me Bubba, shrimp. I had a bitch just like you that I used in prison.
Parker: Oh fuck.
Several punches later, Michael picks up his soda as Nathan is sent sliding across the bar to land on the floor on the opposite side of the bar. The man, Bubba as Nathan called him, starts walking around the bar to go finish the job. Michael holds up a restraining hand after he sets his soda down. The man stops and sneers at him.
Man: What? You want some too?
Dundee: No, but I have to inform you that my friend is drunk and doesn’t think things through when he carries out these plans of his. He’s getting ready for a wrestling match and thought that kicking your ass would help get him ready for his match.
The man punches his own hand with an evil grin.
Man: Well, he gonna have to try to think with his asshole cause that’s where his brain gon be when I bash him in the head. Maybe he be ready for his match then.
Dundee: Could you maybe not? I could offer you a ten percent discount at my food truck for a one time purchase.
The man looks at Michael Dundee closely as if trying to remember who exactly he is. He still looks threatening as he leans down.
Man: You that guy who has the food truck for cats?
Dundee: Yes?
The man stands up, his whole demeanor changed to a wide, happy grin.
Man: That’s just sooo awesome! My Tootsie has been wanting to eat the food from that place! I’ll be sure to come out to get something.
Nathan Parker uses the bar to help him stand up, the whole side of his face looking like it’s turning purple and swollen. He uses the bar to help him stand somewhat upright while he looks to the man.
Parker: You...you should come say...you should come say that to my face!
Man: Say what?
Nathan falls directly to the floor, out like a light. Michael shrugs, walking over to the fallen Nathan, and takes his wallet.
Dundee: Can I offer you a replacement beer? I mean, it’s only fair since he ruined your last one.
Man: Why, I would love one!
Michael puts some money on the table.
Dundee: Get that man a new beer and I will need some help getting Nathan to his truck.
Man: Oh, I can help with that.
Dundee: Just slop him into the bed of the truck. He’ll be alright.
Man: Will do.
The man picks Nathan up and carries him out of the bar while Michael finishes his soda and follows so that he can point out the truck.
