Trevor Walters: Tony Santos! Right on time! Well, not exactly, but that's just fine! Please, please, I have great things to show you!

Cincinnati, Ohio. We're at the headquarters of KMG Sports Management, Tony's new "hired guns" per se. Tony had been reassessing himself, his career, and his life as a whole, and it was time to make himself over, at least in the public eye. He understood how fleeting a career in pro wrestling truly was, and it was important to capitalize on any form of success and notoriety that he had now in order to set himself up for down the road. Tony typically dreamed of the "good life" after wrestling. A sizable income, a house in The Hamptons, three children, all in prestigious private schools and guaranteed careers in a Big Four accounting firm or on Wall Street, a beautiful wife and supportive friends and family.

Wait, no he didn't.

Santos: This better be worth my time. You know I met a cutie with only two missing teeth on the flight over here? We shared a few, well, ten, drinks and watched "Love Actually" together. We even bonded over our passion for, well, nothing. No hobbies, no concerns, nothing. We had a freaking bond, Walt. A bond between our genitalia and their desire to connect in a sweet, loving embrace. You fucked that up. You forced me to turn down hillbilly sex. You aren't off to a good start with me.

Trevor purses his lips as he turns toward the front door of the agency. He opens the clear glass door with his left hand, using his right arm to guide Tony inside. Trevor is dressed in a clean, black suit with a blood red tie. His short, black hair is gelled and parted to the left side of his head.

Tony slowly walks through the entrance, snarling at Trevor as he hobbles past him, slouched over, his brown hair sitting on top of his head like a dead animal. Wearing shorts that are really khaki pants that were cut around the knee area to turn them in to to shorts, high black socks, and a Don Quixote t-shirt (yes, those apparently exist).

Tony makes his way through the reception area, greeted by a pretty brunette who is most certainly just months out of college. She flashes her flawless teeth in a smile that would make almost any man weak at the knees, and Tony counters with...

Santos: The fuck you lookin' at? Plant that semen-lined whore face of yours in your cheap ass Dell and get back to posting side boob shots on OkCupid while Snapchatting pictures of your sore-surrounded snatch to the fucking 80-year-old lawyer you met at Satbucks in hopes of one day capturing his wealth and going in to an early retirement. You're a worthless slut, you know that? A fucking worthless motherfucking slut bag whore fucker! Fuck!

Tony, managing to once again enrage himself after trumping up baseless accusations against an innocent human being, storms through the reception area, knocking over a clear, glass vase and a Pablo Picasso painting. Trevor flashes an apologetic glance at the reception (her name is Katie, which is completely irrelevant to Tony and this story) and quickly scampers behind Tony.

Trevor Walters: Tony, my office is this wa...

Santos: I don't fucking care where your fucking office is, Walt! I want to check out this diarrhea pit before we get down to business!

Tony takes a right, turning the corner and walking down the long hallway. Offices of the various agents employed by this firm are on the left side of the hall, with their assistants sitting in little cubicles to the right, typing away at emails while sporting headsets as they call client after client, while also making various restaurant and sporting event registrations. Unaware of Tony's presence, they continue on their robotic, menial tasks as Tony's white Converse Flats stomp up and down on the sleek, blue tile floor.

Tony looks to his left and sees the name of the firm's founder, Richard Katz, and stops. Peering through the glass window in to Richard's office, he sees the man himself, a 60-ish year-old with gray hair and an equally salty mustache. Tony eyes the room, an elaborate office with oak walls, sleek, brown leather couches against two walls, and a desk the size of a king size bed towards the left end.

Richard can be seen sitting in his plush chair, facing a client by the name of Jamar Smith. A basketball player currently based in Europe, he's back for a few days to meet with his agent, talk strategy, and catch up with family and friends. As Jamar and Richard talk about business opportunities and their plans for this fledgling basketball "star" in his late 20s, Tony gets closer and close to the window. Richard's Executive Assistant, Jody McMillin, notices this, and chimes in.

Jody: Um, sir? Hi, you can't go in there right now. Richard is in with a client. However, I'm sure Trevor would love to...

Without removing his gaze from Richard's office, Tony snaps at Jody.

Santos: Bitch, I'm just fucking watching. Go lick that slut's clit at the front desk while I watch real men do business like professionals.

Taken aback, Jody's head does a slight tick in annoyance. Fluffing her poofy, shoulder length hair of brown with gold highlights, she looks at Trevor who simply shrugs, then looks back at Tony. Walking over to him, she reaches a hand out to Tony's right elbow and attempts to guide him away from the window. Tony jolts his arm forward, resulting in his fist hitting the glass and alerting Richard and Jamar to Tony's presence. Richard looks at Tony, then at Jody, and finally at Trevor before a giving a "fix this ASAP" look to Jody and Co. Jody smiles nervously as she once again goes for Tony's arm.

Santos: Whore, you attempt to touch my arm one more time and I will damn well not hesitate to jam this fist so far up your asshole that it'll come out your mouth. Then I'll proceed to take that shit covered fist and rub it all over that bitch Katie's perfect god damn teeth. Do you understand me?! Do you?!

Jody: I, um...

Trevor Walters: Tony, this isn't exactly the most appropriate set of actions that you're exhibiting right now. Can we please just step in to my office so that I can show you what I have planned for you? That is why you hired me, after all...

Tony looks at Jody, then Trevor, his back against the glass to Richard's office. Tony looks like a cornered animal, in a defensive stance against his two potential captors.

Santos: Not appropriate? Not appropriate, you say?! I'll show you fucking appropriate.

Tony turns toward Richard's door, twists the handle, and marches in to Richard's office. Tony slams Richard's door against the bookshelf to his right, jumps up and smacks one of Richard's hanging lights, and skips (yes, skips) over to Richard and Jamar while adorning a goofy smile on his face. Tony makes his way to Jamar, who's sitting on the other side of Richard's desk, and stretches his hand out for Jamar to shake.

Santos: Hi. Tony Santos. Apparently I'm not being appropriate, so I figured I'd introduce myself to you in a completely humane and proper fashion... with the classic handshake and kind greeting. I'm a pro wrestler. I'm signed with this fucking, erm, freaking professional firm. I'm a one-time Xtreme Champion and a brief member of the failed Brotherhood stable. I've courted offers to join factions with the likes of Sid Feder and, well, just Sid Feder. I'm sort of liked and sort of respected, but I'm also a bit loopy and I tend to have issues with anger and decor every now and then. But, I'm a swell guy just looking to make an honest buck, right?!

Right.

Who are you?

Jamar: I'm Jamar...

Tony looks at Jamar with a bit of a bewildered glance, then places his palm in Jamar's face.

Santos: Jamar? Like... Lamar? Could your mom not spell? Can you not spell? Is that why you're an athlete? Because your lineage passed on a solid ten working brain cells to you, resulting in you being clinically brain dead and unable to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, let alone have enough sense to go down to the local Probate Court and get that stupid shit of a name changed? Huh?

Lamar, not exactly flattered with Tony's critique of his intelligence and name, stands up. Standing at 6'3", he stands an inch taller than Tony Santos, and thus can stare right in to Tony's eyes.

Jamar: Are we gonna have a problem here? This ain't the place to do it, my man. We can step outside if you'd like. I'd be happy to grab a cup of coffee across the street and... talk.

Tony smiles.

Santos: Jamar, my boy! Don't be letting the hood seep out of you, dawg, especially not in front of the founder of this company! Come on, pal, you know I'd be happy to twirl you around like a bad dance partner, but, I'm being appropriate right now. I can't be harming anyone while I'm being appropriate, now can I? Not even to someone who deserves to be wiped off of this fucking planet... oops, there I go again! Not even to someone who deserves to be wiped off of this freaking planet for being so mindbogglingly dumb and worthless.

Nah, not even to someone like that.

Come here, my man, gimme a kiss.

Tony leans in to Jamar and kisses him smack dab on the lips. Jamar immediately shoves Tony backwards, then, after gaining his balance, moves forward at Tony, ready to strike. Tony, thinking fast, grabs a box cutter from Richard's desk and focuses it on Jamar. Panting and wide-eyed, Tony smiles, placing his tongue in the gap that formally held one of his teeth.

Santos: Step back, motherfucker. I will not hesitate to strike you, you worthless shit! Take one more step, just ONE MORE and find out how much I like chaos. Try me!

Jamar looks at the box cutter, then Tony, and steps back. Turning toward Richard, he apologizes for the scene. After consulting in the corner for a moment, Richard and Jamar decide that it might be best to take this meeting elsewhere. After managing to pry the box cutter away from Tony via a steady dose of persuasion, Richard asks Tony to leave. Tony smiles, lifts himself up, and ruffles his hair.

Santos: Jamar. Richard. It was nice having the opportunity to meet you both. I'm glad we were able to interact in a professional manner. I think we've set quite a good first impression with one another, and I look forward to future meetings.

Trevor, let's take a look at this proposal of yours. I'm quite intrigued.

Tony turns and leaves the room. Trevor, mouth agape, watches Tony look for and enter Trevor's office, Tony's hand sliding across Trevor's silver name plate as he walks in. Trevor looks at Richard, then Jamar, and finally Jody, grits his teeth, and simply heads for his office, ignoring any questions they might have considered.

As Trevor closes the door, Tony can be heard saying...

Santos: This better not be shit or you'll be getting the box cutter.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion