“Success isn’t a given in the wrestling industry, not unless you’re me. Not unless you can ASSERT yourself over the other people vying for the spot and position that you’ve been set up for. In the end, to become a leader of the playground and stick around at the top, you have to become a bully yourself, you have to give a part of yourself to the federation, each day you grow in power and influence, until you are the one man sitting at the top of the kingdom, looking down at the people beneath you with a sneer."
― Austin Fernando
The Unexpected Party
In a tiny hole-in-the-wall, between two large buildings, lived a bartender. Not some nasty, damp, run-down hole-in-the wall. Not a place where crimes and fights would take place. And not a place that's so bare on a Friday night you wouldn't know it existed. It was a quaint, peaceful, quiet hole-in-the-wall. A place you'd perhaps take a grandchild for a hot dog in the middle of the day and catch the ball game on the television. Or a place where you and very own fellowship could enjoy a few drinks late after a long night's work and perhaps meet someone special. Mention spending time at this particular hole-in-the-wall, to someone who knows better, it meant comfort.
Inside this tiny hole-in-the-wall, you could take a white glove to any section of the bar, any table, any crevice, and any corner. The taps that lined the bar were lit up with their own special flavor, all ten of them. Nearly any flavor that any traveler could possibly want was available here. The Bartender cared about his patrons and what they liked. He had his own way of running things for sure, but always had an open ear to anyone who may have a suggestion to him. As meticulous as the Bartender worked, he always had time to entertain his guests. After all, it would be rude to not do so.
A row of 12 ounce crystal mugs lined the inside of the bar and reflected the dim light above them into several little auros across the bar. It being so much later in the evening, the pub is nearly empty, and the last few patrons of the night are finishing their glasses and preparing to go on their way. As they slowly shuffle out the door, the Bartender follows them to lock up.
He assures himself that the heavy metal door is completely shut by pulling on it a few times, then locks it with a key and turns the deadbolt. Before he turns around he smells fresh cigar burning in the air. He faces the bar and sees an old man sitting alone, holding a cigar in his teeth, stirring a mixed drink. The old man looks at him and smiles. His face is slightly bruised, taking nothing away from the eye patch he's wearing over his one eye. The old man removes the cigar from his teeth and smiles even wider.
Hello, my friend.
The old man peers up from under the brim of his white derby hat. The suit he's wearing is just as white and seems to glow under the lighting, much to the same effect as the crystal mugs that lay before him.
Without questioning how or where this man came from, the Bartender approaches the old man.
"Uh- well. Hello?"
The Bartender stands next to the old man, shielding himself a bit from the dense smoke.
"Sorry, sir, but it's after two."
The old man reaches up with his right hand and takes a glance at his watch.
So it is!
The Bartender looks at the old man a little stunned and confused. He sighs to himself.
Why tonight? Drunk old bastard.
"Sooo... It's time to get going, ya know? Closing time, pops."
The old man never stopped smiling at the Bartender. He takes the last sip from his mixed drink and places it gently back on the bar.
I suppose you're right.
The old man starts to get up and pauses for a moment as he reaches into his inside coat pocket. He pulls out several large bills and places them onto the bar. The Bartender can't believe the amount this old fellow is leaving behind for him. He'll be kicking himself tomorrow, but tonight it seems his conscience is going to get the best of him.
"Woah, woah. Wait a minute, pal...."
The Bartender reaches over and picks up the pile of large bills and hands them back to the old man.
"You don't have to worry about this. Here, you're too kind. You're too kind."
Hm. Hmmm.
The old man stares at the Bartender and seems to be analyzing him.
"What is it?"
Well, my dear friend, it seems like you could use a vacation.
The Bartender scoffs at the old man.
"An vacation? Spare me. No time for vacations. Not today. But come back for some more drinks, any time you like. Tomorrow? Come back tomorrow."
The Bartender watches the old man slowly walk away from him towards the still locked front door. He stands motionless for a moment before looking down and reaching into his pocket.
"Hey wait! It's all locked up! I'll have to let you out! I--"
When the Bartender pulls his key out and looks back up the old man is gone just as fast as he appeared.
How'd he unlock that door?
The next day the Bartender has nearly forgotten about the old man from the night before. He deals with so many drunkards in and out of his place that he just can't keep track of them anymore.
Just after the neon sign went on near the front entrance, the door swung open. In walked a large man carrying a large black case. He takes a seat at the bar with the case by his side and the Bartender walks up to him. He noticed the case the man brought in with him and peers over the bar trying to spot it.
"How we doing, fella? What's up with the case?"
The man glares at the Bartender and says with a low bow,
"Lute player, at your service."
The Bartender rests back and nods in approval.
"Well, nice. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Certainly can, Bartender. Fetch me your finest ale."
Ha! What's with this guy now?
"Coming right up."
The Bartender takes five paces to his left and reaches into the cooler for a mug. He fills it to the top with the best ale he had on tap and brought it back to his new guest. The man guzzled down most if it in one gulp, but before he could place the mug back onto the bar, the door swings open again.
Another, much older looking, man carrying a black case walks into the Bartender's little hole-in-the-wall. He approaches the bar and sets the case on the floor beside him, just as the other man did. The Bartender watched him walk in and met him over where he sat down.
"Morning."
The man nodded back at the Bartender who passes a glance down at this even newers guest's black case.
"A lute player too?"
The man gives the Bartender a low bow.
"Banjo player, at your service."
The Bartender nods again in approval.
"A lute and a banjo player? Damn. What can I get for ya, old timer?"
"Fetch me a Jack and Coke, Bartender."
The Bartender obliges and goes about making the drink for his newest guest. When he turns around he sees the two men talking about old times on the road, different venues, and many stories that regard to a possible rise to fame. As they talk, they seem like old friends for sure, the Bartender thinks to himself. Before he plaaces the drink in front of the banjo player, the front door opens once more and two more men walk into the pub carrying their own black cases at their side.
"I see that everyone is beginning to arrive!"
"Everyone...?"
The one man says as he takes a seat at the bar next to the banjo player. The two men look nearly identical, they must be brothers.
"Fiddle players, at your service."
The two men give the Bartender a low bow.
"You gentlemen expecting more company here?"
"We are, and two large drafts of beer for us, please."
The other fiddle player speaks up.
"Right away."
The Bartender rushes over and grabs two mugs from the cooler and fills them to the top with beer from the tap. He places the two mugs in front of the two fiddle players and ponders for a moment before speaking again.
"So, you guys in a band or something?"
The two fiddle players guzzle down what's in each of their mugs and simultaneously slam the mugs back down onto the bar. They speak simultaneously as well,
"Another please!"
The Bartender obliges and grabs the mugs from the bar and proceeds filling them back up with beer. At the same time he notices that the lute players mug has gone dry as well. He grabs it from the bar as well and fills it up with the pub's finest ale. The Bartender is still a bit confused as to what these few gentleman are up to. It wasn't long before the large front door opened again and five more men walked in carrying their own black cases. The bartender follows them all down as they sit with, what would apparently be, their fellow band mates. They all offer their services, two back-up vocalists, a bass player, a mandolin player, and a flute player. They all take seats at the bar and each order something different than all the others.
"A Long Island iced tea, please!"
Says one.
"It's early yet! A screwdriver for me!"
Says another.
Before the Bartender is through taking each of their orders the door swings open once again and four more musicians fall through the door. Each of them also carrying their own black case into the pub, all except for the one that leads them in. He is empty handed and seems to be of somewhat importance to their other musicians as they all stand and greet him. Following the small crowd of musicians that just entered, was the same old man that the Bartender met the previous night after hours in the bar. The old man slowly walks down to the end of the bar and stands, watching his party all congregate and enjoy their drinks. The Bartender follows the old man down to the end and leans into speak. The old man looks over and smiles.
Hello again, my friend!
"Um- hi. These are your friends, I presume?"
Indeed, sir, indeed! Finish this round I'm buying for the crowd and I'll explain our business here!
The old man throws a stack of money down onto the bar and waves his hand down to the thirteen musicians all lined against the bar. The Bartender rushes over and begins filling everyone's glasses with whatever they desired while keeping an eye on the old man.
Once he finishes the round he heads back to the old man who is now sitting enjoying a fine cigar.
"So what's the scoop?"
Well, my friend. You're looking at one of the finest folk bands to ever grace this very land we live. Thirteen men playing in harmony the finest folk music you've ever heard. Tell me, are you still interested in a vacation?
"I was never interested in a vacation."
The old man laughs and blows out a large puff of smoke into the air.
You see, these thirteen men have a long road ahead of them, as do I. Our travels across the land will lead me to Philadelphia, and them to the largest folk music festival known to man. They wish to reclaim their home atop the not-so lonely mountain of fame.
"... And what's your business in Phili?"
Well, a change of plan I suppose. A much unexpected jouney indeed. I've been recently switched my schedule to oblige to someone elses wishes, against my very own. I'm going from my current place on Warfare back to my roots on Madness. I do feel a bit out of place, but it never mattered much to me before which night my sessions take place.
"Sessions?"
Why, yes. I currently care for several, several patients once or twice a week. Well, a few would argue now that I've become a little lax at my duties as the XWF superstars' psychiatrist.
"So, you're a doctor?"
Indeed!
"Okay, well, why have you all met at my pub? You guys preparing for this big journey?"
Indeed!
The Doctor smiles at the Bartender once again. The Bartender sighs at the vague answers he's receiving from the Doctor.
You see, it's been quite a long time since I, myself, have had to worry about my means of transportation between sessions. My current "chauffeur" is a bit incapacitated at the moment. Therefore, I had to find a new way to get myself across the land to where my next session will be.
"Which is Phili."
Correct!!
"And the minstrels?"
They are my means! As they pass through Philadelphia on their way to their own venue, I shall be let off and take care of my own business!
The man with no case speaks up and shouts down the bar at the Bartender and the Doctor.
"I've been waiting for a drink for two minutes, Doctor! Are you sure this bartender is worth our time?!"
By all means, friends. His skills are unmatched and his drinks are conjured from the greatest ingredients you could possibly imagine. Having little faith in our new friend will only discourage him more. Please, try to have a bit of patience. For he not only has the answer to our thirsts, but he is also our lucky number fourteen! You superstitious fools.
The Doctor nods at the Bartender to go take care of the thirsty musicians. He rushes away and beings pouring several drinks at a time before returning to the Doctor.
Your services are and will be much appreciated, my dear bartender.
"Will be?"
Of course! It is a long way to travel from this city to the next, by means of tour bus that is. We are without a person to mix our drinks and pour our beers! Therefore, we call for the finest bartender we know of.
"I can't go with you guys! I have a bar to run!"
We do not plan for this trip of ours to be cheap, friend. It could be quite rewarding for you.
Just then the Bartender remembers the hefty tip that the Doctor left for him the previous night.
"Well, how long could this trip take?"
I believe you should be free to return by the end of the week. I'm due in Philadelphia by this Monday.
The Bartender ponders over the request of service for a moment before he realizes a few more mugs empty along the bar. Before he can react, several of the men have opened their cases and pulled out their instruments. One at a time they all begin playing in harmony as the leader of the group rises up with a harmonica from his inner pocket. The beautiful sound of folk music livens up the bar as they begin dancing and singing to the music.
"A lively group."
Indeed!
The two of them listen as the men continue their merry little songs.
It seems we have someone here who knows more than what some would think in his short time in this fine organization...
After just four matches of his own, Mister Fernando seems to be calling quite a few shots here. Hm. Interesting. Especially after only winning half of his battles.
Mister Fernando, if I'm the first person to do so, allow me to welcome you to the XWF, my friend. And allow me to fill you in on a few things that you could, perhaps, be misinformed, or even, uninformed of.
First of all, no need for formal introductions, right? Regardless, my name is Doctor Louis D'Ville. I am the X-Treme Champion. I am the King of the XWF. And yes, I am a current holder of a 24/7 briefcase. You know all of this already. You seem to have a good memory as well. I do enjoy hearing my own words spoken back to me over and over again. I find myself to be very well spoken and every time someone decides to play back something for me, I just get a chill up my spine. Does it do the same for you? Stuck on a few words of mine, maybe? I didn't mean to haunt you for this long, Mister Fernando. It seems that immediately after our first encounter you have had your heart set on my title. Even after winning a number one contender's match for the Television Title, you came for the Doctor. Shouting out a challenge to me and even forgetting about what you currently had on your plate. I didn't take much persuasion to get you to drop that match, now did it? What makes you so confident against me? Is it because Jacob holds the one, single win over me? Is that it? Does it give you hope by dropping out of a match with the Television Champion and facing someone that he's beaten? Just so you know, Mister Fernando, that was quite some time ago. Perhaps you're unfamiliar with who I've faced here recently, after the loss to Jacob. I've beaten the Loverboy. I've beaten the Senator. I've beaten Wyatt Reynolds to the point that he's not returned. I've recently beaten Mister Pest. Perhaps it's not as top notch as your previous competition, but I feel that these gentleman have held their own long enough that a win over them is quite a feat. Who have you faced recently? Justin Sane? The same man that has apparently 'eclipsed' me in such a short time here? Let me ask you something, Mister Fernando. Do you realize why Mister Sane received a 24/7 briefcase? Do you? It was being voted the Superstar of the Month for December. What a prize, eh? Riddle me this, you're so good at doing your research apparently. Take a look back to the month of September, my friend. Who was the Superstar of the Month then? I'm not sure, but what I am sure is that there were no prizes nor rewards for such a thing back just a few months ago. Your status as the Superstar of the Month was announced and then forgotten about. No, not like today. Even Mastermind received a title shot of his choice for being the Superstar of the Month for November. Hm. Sometimes, change is good, right? So, now that you're snacking on your words a little bit there, let's move on, shall we?
I won the King of the Ring Tournament on November 3rd in a one night tournament. I defeated the likes of Lucius Fyre, Tony Santos, and Frodo Smackins. I would've defeated the one man you have ENDLESS respect for, but unfortunately, he dropped out of the tournament, leaving me alone in the ring with nothing but a handshake. Was I disappointed? Of course I was. Because I crave the competition. I then went on to face Mastermind for the X-Treme Title exactly a month later. For eight weeks now I've been the champion. Any challenge that has been brought to me, I've accepted, and I've passed.
I know what you're thinking. I heard what you said. I've become too comfortable in my position on top of this mountain. Too relaxed. A bit complacent? You sound like my most recent opponent as well. Ask him if I'm out of practice, won't you? If I was reluctant to accept your challenge, forgive me. You must understand that the title I hold is at a very high demand. Well, to be honest, I'm not sure how much anymore the way manage throws out title shots and briefcases these days... but regardless. The X-Treme Title is perhaps the second most prestigious title in this fine federation. High enough demand to convince you to drop out of a Television Title match to face me.
On Monday Madness of all things, too....
I can see that it wasn't the Doctor who was reluctant about this challenge. You challenged me, while having that small stipulation in your mind. Do you think this holds you to an advantage, my friend? Taking me away from my normal environment and throwing me back to my roots? Come now, Mister Fernando. Are you really so clueless to what I'm capable of that you think scheduling our session on a different event is going to help you? I've had some of my greatest sessions on Madness. EVEN the one everyone continues to stab to death over and over again. The match with Jacob. Just to give you a little background on how that session went, it was perhaps one of Jacob's greatest challenges. It went along and nearly ended just the same as the recent gauntlet match Jacob defended his title in. With a few short seconds left, the three count on the Doctor came a second too soon. Luck? Perhaps. As I've said before, Jacob and I have a long history here in the XWF. I cannot take anything away from his victory that night all those weeks ago. But what I can take away, is the two times that Jacob has turned his back on my challenge, and walked away. There's enough still there thought that I am capable of 'forgive and forget', and continue to be patient until we meet again.
You've been so stuck in the history books as of late I'm finding myself reminiscing on past events as well. You share the same interest as Mister Pest bringing up how I choose to defend this title. Two defenses in six in a half weeks. That doesn't seem to bad, does it? What do I look like, the Television Champion? Forced to defend my title three times a month or at the GM's discretion? It's a good thing I'm not the Television Champion, or else you would have no interest in challenging the Doctor, would you? That title isn't important enough for someone of the likes of you to chase, is it? Good thing I'm the X-Treme Champion. If you do defeat me, I'd like to see how you plan to bring the importance and prestige back to this title. I've done everything anyone would do while holding this title. Defend it when needed and get that briefcase. Unlike many others though, I've failed to just hand the title over after receiving my prize. What do you suppose that tells you? Does it show that I have no interest in defending this title any longer? Does it show that getting that briefcase was the only goal I had in mind? Maybe I want two briefcases? Or seven, for that matter. Perhaps, I plan to hold the X-Treme title forever and sell the briefcases for xbux? Who knows! You surely don't know what my plan is. Assuming that an X-Treme Champion's goal is one day the Universal title is a bit stereotypical. Maybe, as I hold this briefcase, I have a different title in my sights. Maybe I'm in the hunt for the Prophetic Title? Or perhaps that Television Title that I failed so miserably at obtaining. Who's to say? Definitely not you, sir.
I'm looking forward to hearing from you again, Mister Fernando. I'm sorry if a bored you here with nothing interesting to say and my lack of logic. You should check yourself over before you speak up again, because I'm not the only one here who is putting people to sleep. Maybe you could continue telling the world in a million ways how you're going to overcome the odds and take me down? After all, there's no imposing threat here. What have I accomplished anyway? A few things here and there. Much more than half the current roster has, that's for sure. I'm glad to here that my time is almost up as well.. Old age has taken it's toll and I've grown quite tired of being one of the most feared competitors in the XWF. You want to mock me as the King? You're just like that fellow, Mister Top Gun... He respects me one week. Has nothing bad to say what-so-ever. Until I foiled his plans as the Federweight Champion and now I'm the scum of the Earth. I'm not sure what could've possibly turned your attention towards me as of late, Mister Fernando. But you're going to regret the decisions you've made. You should've just taken the opportunities that were already given to you and ran with them. Instead, you drop them like a bad habit and turn down an even darker path. A path that not too many competitors come back out with positive attitudes. Except for Mastermind, who I must give credit for. You talk about springing back from a loss and not batting an eye? The gentleman there has done just that over two dozen times. Are you going to follow in his footsteps? Claiming your fame after four matches, where only half of them you came out successful? Seems a bit far fetched, but keep that attitude, my friend. The way the XWF is working right now, no one is short of opportunities around here. I'm sure after your defeat this Monday you'll have another shot another title soon enough. Maybe that Television Title window will open back up for you... If you can swallow your pride and go after such a low prestige title and hold back the vomit after competing with such a lack of competition.
You know, I'm actually glad you've came to me recently, Mister Fernando. Sitting atop my throne on this lonely mountain has perhaps made me forget my true purpose here in the XWF. And that's to help each and every competitor tame those demons inside, and use them for their own advantage. To realize their true potential and look past any hardships that they've fallen upon. Look at Mister Harrison, for example? The man has lost is wife, his life, and nearly everything he's fought for since the beginning. Now, with help from the Doctor, he's going to sit beside me upon this throne and claim his place among the ranks of the competition once again. Will you realize what you're truly capable, or more like, incapable of after facing me? We should certainly hope.
"Are you through with your rambling yet, old man?"
The music stops and the leader of the thirteen minstrels speaks up.
"We must be going. It's a long road to our destination and there's no time to waste, Doctor."
The Doctor looks up at his new friends and smiles.
Agreed!
The Doctor looks over at the Bartender.
What do you say, friend? Will you join us on this grandest adventure?
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