KICKOUT.

Flynn snaps up, still laying in his bed.

"Hello, Roger who-most-likely-has-a-last-name-unless-you-were-born-from-a-clone-sleeve-instead-of-from-a-woman."

Flynn mean-mugs at the odd, gangly fellow before him. Eyeing him up and down, trying to get a feel for him.

...

"Y'know." Flynn says after an extended analysis. "The ol' Flynn would have sent you out on your ass. Woulda broken something over your head... Probably kicked you in the throat a few times."

"But, y'know, that was before. Before I turned over a new leaf and started wanting to be good."

...

"Which I am. And was."

...

"Good, I mean."

...

"...Anyway."

Flynn reaches over to grab NOT Roger, but the official Roger brought by the collar.

Flynn opens up his bedroom window...

And effortlessly as one might drop an apple core in a garbage bin, plucks the official into the air.

And drops him outside.

...

(Don't worry, Flynn sleeps in a one-floor storage unit... with a window. No referees were harmed in the making of this kick-out).

"Sorry, Rodg, ol' buddy. Gotta hang onto this belt until whoever locked me up at Leap of Faith comes out into the open... As long as I have this thing, it's a magnet for random attacks and whoever that MORON is won't be able to resist coming after me again."

Flynn reaches into his nightstand and pulls out his datebook and makes a note to have coffee/tea/hot chocolate (NO PINK marshmallows) with ol' Rodg sometime in the next few weeks.

Flynn gets Roger's phone number, which he enters in as 'Roger the X-Treme'.

"Keep swinging, kid. You'll avenge your rabbit and beat that asshole kid from Angels in the Outfield."