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~~Brandon Moore~~ · (12-18-2016)

There's basically jack shit to do in Richmond, Virginia. It doesn't have a music scene, local or anything good otherwise. There are a few good bars, maybe some decent restaurants. What about for the people that don't drink, though? That's the category Brandon Moore falls into. He also falls into the category of people who find out about the most random shit wherever they go. There aren't any casinos in Richmond. Or are there? Cue suspenseful questioning music score here. It's a trick question. Casinos and gambling in them are not legal in Richmond. No Indian casinos or white folk casinos anywhere to be found. However, there's an underground ring. Earlier in the day, Brandon ran into a curious fellow outside of his hotel room passing out fliers to people who he deemed to be “not a narc.”

The flier had an address and a password on it. Some guy seriously has a casino set up in his basement. Brandon wants to check it out, because he loves a good wager. Whether it's on the slots, horse races, craps, blackjack, roulette, anything. He's got a gambling problem about as much as he's got an anger problem. Brandon arrives and slams the shit out of his Uber drivers car door. He follows the directions on the flier and heads around the back of this pretty decent sized house in what appears to be the part of town that puts the “Rich” in Richmond. Brandon comes to a sketchy door that appears to lead down to a tornado shelter underneath the house. He shrugs and knocks five times as the directions state. A panel towards the top of the door slides open, but nothing can be seen beyond it. A voice jumps through the open panel towards Brandon.

-?????-
Password.

Brandon pulls the flier out of his back pocket and tries to use the moonlight to help him read it. The voice behind the door is getting impatient, but Brandon has found the password on the flier. He starts to laugh before addressing the situation.

-Brandon Moore-
“You're fucking me, right? Oh shit...the password is 'Don't Talk About Fight Club.' Let me the fuck in.”

The panel slams shut and Brandon looks like he's about to break the door down. He quickly changes his attitude when he hears the door unlock. It opens towards the outside and Brandon steps into the black abyss. Seriously, it's pitch black. Suddenly a hand grabs Brandon's and starts to drag him through the darkness.

-Brandon Moore-
“The fuck is holding my hand, yo?!”

After what seemed like an eternity, another door finally opens. Let there be light! Brandon is shoved through the door and it is slammed shut behind him. Brandon's mouth is agape as he looks around. It's an illegal gambling paradise. No slot machines, but there are tables for poker, roulette, craps, blackjack, and even that weird Chinese game no one understands. From the ceiling, there are chandeliers. There lights change colors. That's what really has Brandon astonished. He fucking loves shiny shit! Brandon finally closes his mouth, eyes still wide, though. He heads over to the roulette table and rips his wallet out of his back pocket. He slams a one hundred dollar bill on the table.

-Brandon Moore-
“One hundred on black!”

The casino worker at the table takes Brandon's bill and exams it. It's good. The worker spins the wheel and drops the ball onto it. He then throws a chip signifying Brandon's bet down on the table in the black spot. There are a few other bets on the table as well, but most of the people seem to be simply drinking or surrounding a lucky guy at the craps table. The ball bounces as the wheel goes around and around and around. It eventually stops as the casino worker yelps out the spot the ball landed on.

-Casino Worker-
“22...Black!”

-Brandon Moore-
“Oh fuck yeah!”

The casino worker acknowledges Brandon's win and hands in another chip signifying $100 along with the original chip he placed on the table. Brandon just doubled his money. He shrugs and smirks, then pushes both of his chips into the black spot.

-Brandon Moore-
“Two hundred on black!”

You only live once right? Well, the same fucking things happens. This time it lands on fifteen black. Brandon has doubled his money again. He shrugs again lays down all of his chips on the red spot this time.

-Brandon Moore-
“Fuck it.”

What do you know? It lands on red nine. Brandon is on a roll and he starts to gather attention of the illegal casino patrons. A sexy middle-age blonde starts noticing his streak and makes a point to get really close to the XWF superstar. Over and over Brandon correctly guesses the color it would land on. He never puts money on a specific slot, just the color, and he is getting lucky as fuck. The blonde finally speaks up. One can guess she probably likes the money she sees piling up and probably, for a price, gives up a little somethin' somethin'.

-Sexy Blonde-
“Hey there, Mr. Luck...or is it Mr. Handsome?

Brandon looks on confused as fuck. He knows she's digging for gold. Hard. He plays along.

-Brandon Moore-
“What's cookin', good lookin'?”

-Sexy Blonde-
“Nothing much, big spender. Just watching you handle business.”

She winks at Brandon.

-Sexy Blonde-
“Come on and have a seat with me. Let's talk.”

A recurring theme for the night, Brandon shrugs. This shrug is in agreement. He and the blonde gal head over to a table close to the bar and have a seat. She appears to be waiting for Brandon to pull her chair out like a gentleman, but that obviously doesn't happen. Brandon sits down so she follows suit. She puts on her “fuck me and give me money” eyes and starts to try and smooth talk the wrestler.

-Sexy Blonde-
“So, what do you do for a living, pretty boy?”

-Brandon Moore-
“I'm a wrestler. I make people cry for a living”

-Sexy Blonde-
“A wrestler? No wonder with the build you've got. I like that.

She winks again as Brandon tries his hardest not to laugh at her awful attempts at getting paid for sex.

-Brandon Moore-
“Yeah, it's fucking great. I get to knock people around and get paid for it. I've got a match tomorrow. Some fucking cunts and some fucking douchebags. Piece of...

Brandon and the blonde are now interrupted by the old man that was getting lucky at craps when Brandon entered the illegal establishment. He looks pissed as he approaches them.

-Old Man-
“You fucking whore! You were only chatting me up because I was winning at the craps table, huh?! Then you move onto this long haired, hippie

?! Gold digging bitch. Get up and come back to my hotel. Now. You want some money? Here! Come and fuck me!”

The old man pulls a handful of bills out of his shirt pocket and throws them at the blonde woman. He's drunk and belligerent, of course. Brandon gets up and starts to leave the table. The blonde stands as well.

-Brandon Moore-
“She's all yours pal.”

-Old Man-
“Where do you think you're going, boy?”

The old man grabs Brandon's arm to stop him from leaving. Again, he's drunk, obviously picking a fight. He's jealous for no reason.

-Old Man-
“What's so special about you anyways?!”

Brandon was set to respond to that question, but he notices the old man cocking his fist back. This old fucker is seriously getting ready to throw a punch. Brandon puts a stop to that nonsense really quick. Brandon sends a karate chop to his throat like he's in a Liam Neeson movie. He then slams the old man's head onto the table he was just sitting at, sending him staggering backwards, regretting his attempted assault. Out of nowhere, a handful of security guards that were undercover as casino patrons swarm the scene. They grab the old man and Brandon, placing their arms behind their backs. They're ready to kick them right the fuck out until the blonde interjects.

-Sexy Blonde-
“Wait, fellas! The old bastard tried to assault me and he was just coming to my aid! Take the old fucker away, but let this handsome young man stay. He saved me.”

The securities guards that had a hold of Brandon agree to let him go. They believe the blonde's story as she must be a regular around here. Brandon and the blonde sit back down as the guards drag the old man to the exit and hand him off to the darkness to kick him out.

-Sexy Blonde-
“Let's talk some more, sweetie. I never caught your name?”

-Brandon Moore-
“It's Brandon.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Brandon Moore-
“And that's how I, along with my boys in Havoc, plan to mutilate, decapitate, and whatever the hell else ends with 'ate' those fuckers we're facing in the Trios Cubed match. Nami, Drezdin, Lyianna...Snow, Kid Kool, Broken Hart. They're all fucked. Ronnie and David would definitely take the third parachute with them if the plane was going down, but they're alright, you know? They've got my back and I've fucking got theirs. We seriously might murder someone and it feels kind of relieving.”

Brandon and the blonde have been talking for a long fucking time. The blonde's makeup is smeared on her face from tears. She looks visibly shaken. The things Brandon told her are best left unrepeated. He let her in on the secrets of professional wrestling, how he feels about being in the XWF, and how he feels about his opponents for Savage Saturday Night. Brandon, again, shrugs after he finished speaking. The blonde, looking terrified, turns her head behind her chair and viciously vomits. Brandon must have really freaked her out with the details of how he's going to fucking ruin “The Big Titty Love Affair” and “Snow and the Two Fuckhead Dwarves.” As she vomits, he decides to get up from his chair and take his leave. He made some good money at the beginning of his adventure and was able to vent to a stranger. That's nice. Somehow, his cell phone has service in this illegal bomb shelter casino. “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins blares throughout the room as it has basically cleared out now. He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and the screen reads “Ronald McDonald.” That's the contact name he has put for Ronnie Cage. Brandon flips the phone open and answers.

-Brandon Moore-
“What's up Ronfuck?

…..

Yeah, I know we've got a fucking match against the 'Shitty Six.”

…..

Wait...what time is it?

…..

Fuck, dude! I've been here that long?! Jesus fuck!

…..

I remember the plan. I'll fucking meet you there.

…..

Seriously. I made fucking dough on roulette. Let me cash this shit and I'll be there.

…..

Oh, suck my dick.”

Brandon practically punches the “End Call” button and shoves his phone back into his pocket. He rushes over to the special table where all the loads of money is located and turns in his chips for cash. Time to go kick some ass.

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