They all yelled out in unison as one of the men in the pub slapped the wooden bar top. There was bagpipe music playing an Irish jig and the men, women and even some children in the pub were all dancing and laughing and smiling.
Hanari was surrounded by a bunch of drunken Irish people, all of whom seemed infatuated with him and his stories. They have not seen someone quite like him before, but then again, who had? Hanari had a smile on his face too, he rather liked the attention and it sure beat sitting in that stuffy hotel room.
So much for five star.
"So ya be a professional wrestler, ayy?!"
Hanari took another swig and slammed the glass down.
"Hanari es what chu wan' him to be mang. A fighter, a warrior, a survivor. Hanari es a hero, an a villain....he es what he needs to be."
The Irish man looked at him like a confused dog, then began to laugh his arse off and slap the bar top again.
"You cheeky bastard! Way to dodge tha fuckin question lad! I like this guy! Barkeep! One more on me for the dark fella here!"
Hanari was feeling it, he didn't know what the alcohol was over here but he liked it.
He looked around and saw the joy in all the faces of the people around him. He had never been in a room with so many happy people before. He has never seen so many people getting along at one time, and coexisting without cutting each others throats.
"So, Mr. Hanari, lad, ya have a big fight tomorrow eh? Down at tha National Sports Campus eh? A littuhl ruff n tumble eh lad?"
Hanari looked around again. These people didn't care that he looked different, talked different, dressed different (better) than they did. All they cared if if he drank the same. The Irish mask their depression of a failing economy, nationwide food shortages, a male life expectancy much lower than the rest of Europe. All they cared is if he could hold his own with the Devil's Brew.
"No, chico, no. I no have a big fight. I have a war. I have to survive."
"Ayyyy, Paddy, this saucy motherfucker just said I! Ahhhh, hahah, lad, I guess the Bushmills kicks the third person outta ya arse, lad!"
They all laugh and slap the table.
Hanari chuckled to himself. He took another shot then looked up, a serious look over his face.
"Sometime.......et good to be de underdog. Et good to have nobody voting' for ya, sometime it good to be de dark horse. Hanari walk into de ring with four otha men, all of whome have experience mang.......all of whome have been around the wrestlin' world for some time, yah? Hanari es still in single digits, but es learning day by day. De ins and de outs. Ned Kaye has been on fire as of late, an he es gon' be Hanari toughest opponent in dis match. Ned may be one of de top competitors in de company, mang, but Hanari has said it time and time again...said until he es blue in de face.....he es no scared. To be de best, chu need to beat de best. Hanari CAN beat de best. Just like Hanari can out drink all chu bastars....."
The men all looked around, then broke out laughing again.
"Tough motherfucker right here! This tough motherfucker right here is gonna kick all your arses!"
He was tugging on Hanari's shoulders.
Another thing the Irish loved to do besides drink, is fight. A little blood to them was nothing. Hanari knew this situation could turn in the blink of an eye, but he had to be ready.
"So whose arse ya gonna kick tomorrow night, me lad?"
Hanari was quick with his reponse.
"Well....Hanari es gon' face some long haired fruit cake name Ned, as he just say. Den, he has Peter Gilmour who Hanari es no even sure can spell Gilmour.......Missa Kennedy who....."
"Ahhh yes, I like him!"
"I like him too!"
"He sucks. Anyway. Hanari es gon' kick de ass of Michael McBride as well."
All of the Irish men gasped. This was one of their countrymen he was talking about.
"McBride is a tough sonbitch......"
Sometimes when you fight oh, you are not exactly sure what you're fighting for. Other times you are deadly serious. As serious as a brain tumor. A fight is always more mean if there is a reason behind it and Hanari had a reason behind his. Just like the Irish fought for pretty much the entire history to combat tyranny and oppression persecution flat out evil, Hanari is fighting for his country as well. Ireland has wanted respect from of the rest of the European nations, just like he wanted to spend from this roster. He was finally in a place where they settled things by fighting, he was finally in the one place where what he was about to embark on could be respected. The more Bloodshed the better. Tomorrow night what's a standard match a 2 out of 3 Falls match a First Blood match and I Quit match everything the nightmares are made of. All of it has a greater goal just like Ireland had a greater goal. They fought to rid themselves from British rule, he fights to have another shot at glory. He had Tony Santos on the ropes at the pay-per-view and all he needed was another second to make history. This match it's going to be his opportunity to make history because he was going to win, and he was going to go back on to a major card in defeat Tony Santos and when the title fallen in love with.
Hanari looked around the bar and all the men now were staring at him instead of drinking, the music had stopped and the bar has fallen silent. The first time since he had gotten been around other people headed been truly silent. It was like they were waiting for him to make the first move. There was going to be a rumble in this bar but at the end of the day they were all going to pick each other up laugh it off and continue drinking. After this match was over there would be none of that. Careers would be altered, even shortened, and Legacies would begin to establish. This was a small card featuring a lot of the same names, but that didn't mean it can't be top quality.
Hanari braced himself for the impact that was inevitably coming, and knew but the only way to win this fight was to survive all of these men at one time. He would have to run the gamut, and he would have to break some arms.
There was Irish Decor on the wall, Shields and swords, old anti-IRA propaganda and some bagpipes. The bar stools were all made out of wood, so if you needed to grab one and bring it over a head he could.
One man who was clearly intoxicated stepped up to him. This man reminded him of Peter Gilmour. Stumbling, making no sense and having a tough guy persona that Hanari was sure he could never back up. The man said that he was one of the biggest fans of Michael McBride , and that he was going to defend his country. Yep, definitely Peter. This man didn't even take into account that Michael turned his back on his country and move to the United States to make his career, never really looking back and referring to himself as "Irish-American" instead of just "Irish". These were the kind of claims that Peter would make, he had the kind of nose that Peter had.....
Breakable.
Then, as predicted, the man swung. Hanari, with a burst of speed, flipped the man over his shoulder. There were two more on him, and he flipped on, punched the other. A few shots hit Hanari in the face, stumbling him back , but he was able to grab a chair in the scrum. Swinging the chair, he made contact, not entirely sure with who, and spun quick to meet a chair of his own across the face.
It was literally four on one, with all the others watching. One had goofy long hair, one was fat but also kinda skinny, one was blonde with a too-tan face and a loud voice that boomed over all the others (he always seemed to tell everyone what he was going to do before he did it, which made him less effective) and one was a full on Irishman.
It was just like Warfare.
He swung, and drew blood on one man, while locking the other in his arm bar submission. He quit pretty quickly. All of the decor fell off the walls as they slammed into them. Pint glasses broke and blood ran as thick as Guinness.
At the end, all of them were down. The bar had a dust cloud in it, and was so beaten up it looked like it went through World War II.
Hanari stood up out of the rubble, fixing his collar. Cracking his neck in either direction, he limped out of the rubble.
He was the last man standing.
Just as he was about to leave the bar, an Irish man, one not involved in the scuffle, stepped in front of him. The man stared a hole through Hanari, his lips pursed and his face as red as a fire hydrant (although, that could just be his Irish bloodpressure).
Just when Hanari was bracing himself for yet another obstacle, the man began to laugh and extended his hand.
"Damn lad, ye crazy bastard! You jus' went through hell and are still standin'! I like that! I like a man who can fight! Get this man a shot!"
The bartender used one of the few remaining, unbroken, shot-glasses and poured in some Bushmills.
The rest of the Irishmen got up, many bleeding, and all began to approach Hanari.
They each shook his hand.
Laughing, drinking, deep into the night Hanari paid for the bar renovations and gave all of them tickets to the show the following night.
On Vinnie's tab. You're welcome.
When he finally left the bar, he noticed it was raining when he opened the door. Did it ever not rain here?
"God es in the rain" he said to himself as he walked it, the water washing the blood off his face.
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