Post by David Atkins on Dec 17, 2005 14:48:36 GMT -5
"...and I'll do it for all the little Travsters out there!"
Travis was standing atop a table in the Circus Room, and bent forward to flex his upper body for the gathering crowd. That drew cheers and applause, a few catcalls an a lot of laughter. Then Travis, laughing as well, raised his beer to salute the people and turned it up, draining it within moments. More cheers, and then waving them off with a grin, he stepped down and returned to his seat.
Heidi, still laughing, wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him. Even their guest, Bob Clarke, was mightily amused and could not help but chuckle though he had still not managed to relax. The kid just didn't mix well with the public, Travis decided, which made his career choice seem odd. Or, perhaps, not so odd. His father was a wrestler, after all, and sometimes that was all the explaining that was needed. He had seen it before, though he what one could call an expert; Travis, after all, wasn't a second generation anything. He'd bull-rushed his way into the business, the same way he'd gone through most of his life back then.
"Did you mean what you said?" Bob asked suddenly, interrupting Travis' thoughts.
"About what?"
"About my match with Porthos." Bob somehow, though it should have been impossible, sank even more into himself. "You said I..."
"Put up a hell of a fight." Travis finished for him. "Yeah, you did."
"Are you sure? I mean, I've seen the tape and..."
"Listen kid," Travis leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and looking Bob in the eye. "You survived. You went in there with Porthos, a legit hardass with more than a bit of gold on her record, and you hung in there, made her work for it. That says something about you, a lot about you, to anybody with eyes. I mean, shit, if you had the experience to go with that raw talent..."
"I would've won?"
"It's possible." Travis sat back. "Let me put it this way; if it were me and Porthos, and she went high risk on me that early in the match, I would've made her pay for it. And I would've made her pay for it again when she tried to get rough."
"So, what, are you going to teach me to be more ring-wise?" Bob asked cynically.
"Fuck no! Do I look like a green midget to you?" Travis shook his head. "I'm no fucking Yoda. I just wanted you to know that, after seeing you in action, I've got a bit of respect for you."
"Oh." A slow smile spread across Bob's face. "Thanks, I guess."
Several miles away, a camera crew was set up on the front steps of the court house. Before them stood a podium, behind which was a very angry assistant district attorney by the name of Jon Roth. He was angry because he had been made a fool of, because a wrestler-- a mere wrestler!-- had thwarted his delivery of justice and thus, possibly the ascension of his career.
And thus, he was here, with vengeance on his mind.
"It has become clear, in light of their recent courtroom antics," Jon Roth began, silently congratulating himself on the barest hint of righteous outrage he was able to leak into his voice, "that Travis King and Anthony Coffman were in league together from the beginning. This has lead to myself and the district attorney questioning not only the legitimacy of Travis King's action, but also those of the company he works with."
"As you all may or may not be aware, the LOC wrestling federation has been, in the past, linked to not only organized crime but also acts of terrorism and treason."
"We intend... " Roth paused momentarily, pursing his lips and casting his eyes briefly skyward. "In the weeks ahead, we will be investigating not only the legitimacy of the LOC's business dealings, but also a possible link between them and the escape from prison of their former President, a certain Gabriel Klowd, whom currently remains at large."
"We will keep you updated as more details of this case become clear."
"That is all, thank you."
Jon Roth stepped back from the podium and begged off answering further questions as he made his way back into the courthouse. Only once he was inside, well away from the camera's, did he allow himself a small, self-satisfied smile.
He would teach these wrestlers a lesson they would not soon forget.
Travis was standing atop a table in the Circus Room, and bent forward to flex his upper body for the gathering crowd. That drew cheers and applause, a few catcalls an a lot of laughter. Then Travis, laughing as well, raised his beer to salute the people and turned it up, draining it within moments. More cheers, and then waving them off with a grin, he stepped down and returned to his seat.
Heidi, still laughing, wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him. Even their guest, Bob Clarke, was mightily amused and could not help but chuckle though he had still not managed to relax. The kid just didn't mix well with the public, Travis decided, which made his career choice seem odd. Or, perhaps, not so odd. His father was a wrestler, after all, and sometimes that was all the explaining that was needed. He had seen it before, though he what one could call an expert; Travis, after all, wasn't a second generation anything. He'd bull-rushed his way into the business, the same way he'd gone through most of his life back then.
"Did you mean what you said?" Bob asked suddenly, interrupting Travis' thoughts.
"About what?"
"About my match with Porthos." Bob somehow, though it should have been impossible, sank even more into himself. "You said I..."
"Put up a hell of a fight." Travis finished for him. "Yeah, you did."
"Are you sure? I mean, I've seen the tape and..."
"Listen kid," Travis leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and looking Bob in the eye. "You survived. You went in there with Porthos, a legit hardass with more than a bit of gold on her record, and you hung in there, made her work for it. That says something about you, a lot about you, to anybody with eyes. I mean, shit, if you had the experience to go with that raw talent..."
"I would've won?"
"It's possible." Travis sat back. "Let me put it this way; if it were me and Porthos, and she went high risk on me that early in the match, I would've made her pay for it. And I would've made her pay for it again when she tried to get rough."
"So, what, are you going to teach me to be more ring-wise?" Bob asked cynically.
"Fuck no! Do I look like a green midget to you?" Travis shook his head. "I'm no fucking Yoda. I just wanted you to know that, after seeing you in action, I've got a bit of respect for you."
"Oh." A slow smile spread across Bob's face. "Thanks, I guess."
Several miles away, a camera crew was set up on the front steps of the court house. Before them stood a podium, behind which was a very angry assistant district attorney by the name of Jon Roth. He was angry because he had been made a fool of, because a wrestler-- a mere wrestler!-- had thwarted his delivery of justice and thus, possibly the ascension of his career.
And thus, he was here, with vengeance on his mind.
"It has become clear, in light of their recent courtroom antics," Jon Roth began, silently congratulating himself on the barest hint of righteous outrage he was able to leak into his voice, "that Travis King and Anthony Coffman were in league together from the beginning. This has lead to myself and the district attorney questioning not only the legitimacy of Travis King's action, but also those of the company he works with."
"As you all may or may not be aware, the LOC wrestling federation has been, in the past, linked to not only organized crime but also acts of terrorism and treason."
"We intend... " Roth paused momentarily, pursing his lips and casting his eyes briefly skyward. "In the weeks ahead, we will be investigating not only the legitimacy of the LOC's business dealings, but also a possible link between them and the escape from prison of their former President, a certain Gabriel Klowd, whom currently remains at large."
"We will keep you updated as more details of this case become clear."
"That is all, thank you."
Jon Roth stepped back from the podium and begged off answering further questions as he made his way back into the courthouse. Only once he was inside, well away from the camera's, did he allow himself a small, self-satisfied smile.
He would teach these wrestlers a lesson they would not soon forget.