"The only true wisdom is knowing you know nothing."
― Socrates
A Short Rest
The tour bus began to pick up speed as it started down the road. The lute player that the Bartender had first met in the pub was the one driving. After waiting several minutes outside, they all decided the Bartender was not coming. As the bus met with the end of the road, they noticed about fifty yards back the Bartender running after them. He was carrying two large duffle bags over his shoulders and a small suitcase in one hand while his other hand was waving frantically in the air.
"Wait for me! Wait for me, dammit!"
The lute player slowed the bus down and pulled slightly to the side and waited for the Bartender to catch up to them. He swings open the door for him and he climbs aboard. Twelve of the band members applauded him as he climbed the final step, completely out of breath. He looks throughout the bus and sees the other minstrels sitting on couches and chairs spread throughout the back. A miniature bar is set up in the very back of the bus, with a sink with running water, a refridgerater, several small coolers, and even a kegerator with a single tap exposed.
"Wow. You fella's certainly travel in style."
A few of the minstrels cackle a bit, the banjo player speaks up.
"We always didn't, however. Meeting the good Doctor has brought us some good luck as of late. He cared more about the way we traveled than we actually did. Before, we simply had a shorter yellow school bus that we'd rent occasionally and tour with that."
"Yeah, this is a step up for sure."
"Yes! A much more comfortable ride. Plenty of storage for the instruments, as well!"
"So, the old man paid for this, aye?"
A few of the minstrels nod.
"Where is the 'old coot' anyway?"
One of the flute players speaks up.
"He said he had some business to care for!"
Then the other.
"He said he would catch up with us at our next stop!"
The Bartender looks confused for a moment.
"Hm. Ok."
He thought semi-out loud,
How the hell would he know where that would be? This Doctor sure is a strange fellow.
"What's that, son?"
The banjo player spoke up as the Bartender made his way to the back.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
It didn't take long for the party to begin ordering drinks. Even the lute player driving the bus wanted a 'roadie' in bottle form. The party of minstrels carried on as they enjoyed their music, jokes, and drinks.
A while passes and a few many miles are behind them. They've recently crossed the border using I-70, leaving Colorado behind them and entering Kansas. The lute player driving the bus seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much, as he's on his six or seventh bottle of beer in just a short time. The Bartender lost count after serving most of the party several different times. They all seem to enjoy drinking different things as well, no wonder they wished to have a skilled mixologist along for the trip.
One thing this bus lacked was a restroom. Why in the world it wouldn't have one is beyond comprehension, but at least it had a bar. Just discovering this now, a few of the minstrels decided it'd be best of the bus would stop on the side of the highway so they can exit and finally break the seal. The lute player disagrees at first and continues to drive. Even in his sluggish state of mind now, he still realizes that pulling off on the said of an interstate highway and thirteen each standing on the side of the road urinating wouldn't be in their best interest.
While the select few in the back bicker with the lute player about their issue, he spots a sign up ahead for a rest area about five miles ahead. He points it out to them and they sigh with relief.
"I STILL don't see the problem!"
Said one.
"What if I can't make it five miles?!"
Said another.
"Well..."
The banjo player speaks up.
"If you morons would pace yourselves a bit, these things wouldn't sneak up on you."
They do make it the few miles to the rest stop. The lute player drives the bus off the ramp and into the station and stops. Before he has a chance to open the door, several of the minstrels are lined up to exit the bus. As soon as the door opens they all fly out and fall onto the ground. They pick themselves up and head into the small building and use it's facilities.
As everyone else is taking care of their own business, the Bartender exits the bus as well and heads towards the building. Just as he does, three state police squad cars head down the ramp and into the rest station as well. The Bartender notices them as they park and rushes a bit towards the building to warn his comrades of the unexpected company they may have to deal with on the way back to the bus. Before he can reach the building, one officer is already out of his vehicle.
"Hey! You there!"
The policeman shouts out to the Bartender. He stops in place and turns about and the officer is already in his face.
"You with the tour bus?"
The Bartender looks over at the bus and sees one of the minstrels urinating on a tire.
"I am."
"What's the deal with your buddy over there then?"
By this time, the two other officers are approaching the two of them conversing. They're young looking, fresh on the force the Bartender could imagine.
Man. These guys look like dicks.
"Probably a little motion sickness. Not sure, we've been on the road for a while."
The officer laughs.
"And him?"
The officer points out another nearly passed out on his feet, resting his body against the side of the building.
"Having a little party on the road, maybe?"
One of the other officers step in.
"You been drinking? Who's driving this party wagon."
The lute player appears finally from outside of the restroom and is arguing with the two flute players about nonsense, until they all notice the three police officers standing in front of the Bartender.
He approaches he trio and stops beside the Bartender and politely speaks with a slight slur to his speech.
"Is there a problem, officers?"
All three officers look at each other and smile.
"You tell us? You okay to drive, sir?"
The lute player looks at the Bartender.
"No need to look at him. We can smell the booze on you. Just be honest."
"I wasn't driving."
"Then who was?"
The lute player doesn't move his eyes off of the Bartender.
"I was."
"Oh? So you wouldn't mind if we had a quick look inside then, right?"
"Well, it's not my bus to say, really."
"Then who's bus is it?"
The Bartender is stumped now. According to the party he's with, the old man is the one that put up the cash for the bus, but he's nowhere to be found.
"Well, these guys are a folk band heading to...."
"Heading where?"
"I don't remember. The guy that paid for the bus isn't here, I'm just getting these guys there."
"Well, it might be hard to know where you're going with a bus full of drunks. Tell ya what, if we can't look inside the bus right now, we're impounding it and looking inside anway. So. What's the score?"
The Bartender wants to slap himself in the face.
"I suppose then. Look all you want."
The party of minstrels begin to see what's happening here. They all gather around the bus and congregate quietly among each other. Two of the officers climb onto the bus and one stands outside to keep an eye on everyone. After a few minutes, the two officers return and speak quietly among each other. One of them heads to his squad car while the other two remain by the bus with the minstrels.
"Well? Can we go?"
The officers laugh at the Bartender.
"Ha! No? There's open, half full, and empty containers all through the bus. Are you unfamiliar with the law or what? You're all under arrest. Hands against the bus now."
The Bartender's face turns as white as a ghost before he's forced against the bus and is handcuffed. All of the others oblige as well and rest their palms against the bus as they're all slowly handcuffed.
God this can't be happening.
The police station looks like a typical yellow brick building. It must be a small jurisdiction for this particular station, the building is not very big, and judging by the squad cars in the parking lot, there was not a lot of officers on staff.
On a bench just outside the building sits the Doctor. He's smoking a cigar watching the traffic in the distance. The road from the station wraps around from the station and leads back up to the highway.
Hello, my friends.
It seems that someone is really enjoying my words as of late, no? I'm sure I have fans out there and all, but Mister Fernando seems to take the cake as my number one fan. Instead of taking the time to truly tell you all how he feels, he simply replayed, basically, everything I said prior. Granted, he did miss a few lines. I believe he probably just picked out his favorites and played them back for you all. It's an odd way of going about things, I suppose. I don't believe I ever had any commentary to follow along with my little 'rants' before.
I sensed a bit of sarcasm when you claimed you were honored to be working with me, Mister Fernando. I sit here in disbelief because you don't seem to be actually recognizing how far you've actually risen since your first match here in this fine federation. You'd be the first to say, it's not everyday someone gets to sit down in a session with the Doctor. In fact, it's not every month is it? You're all acting as if I've been off for months and months. As if, I'm coming back from an injury. Or went off on other adventures that pulled me away from the XWF. Are you all blind? I've always been here. I never left. Just because you're currently filled with all of this energy, trying to use that energy to impress someone by volunteering yourself for every possible XWF event coming. You did remove yourself from the Television Title match for Warfare, which I'm glad you honored your side of the bargain. But in the same week of facing the Doctor, you're going head to head against Cain, as well. You're a machine, my friend. Unfortunately for you, you're going head to head with the Doctor first. A few short days before you step into the ring with the Messiah of Pain. Mister Cain and I have yet to come face to face, all except for one of my first sessions here in the XWF where we would've had the chance to tangle up, but our teams were switched around and we ended up partnering up and walking away with a victory. So, it'd be hard for myself to give you any type of advice leading into the match. You don't have to ask, Mister Fernando, but I know you're wondering what sort of guidance someone such as myself could provide for you.
The only advice I actually can provide is make sure your focus is in the right place. This match with Cain will do nothing for you in the long run here. Cain is not a contender. As much as he likes to believe he's making a difference here, he is not. So, feel privileged that the officials placed you in a match with him. Perhaps they do see a light inside you. Perhaps they do want you to look good. You're going to need something like that to spring back after Madness, my friend. I believe you're taking me way too lightly right now. You continuously pick at the fact I've barely stepped into the squared circle as of late. When I have, however, nothing has changed. I'm still the same old Doctor that everyone grew to love back before I became X-Treme Champion. I'm not certain I see this 'change' that you've been talking about. I'm still champion. I'm still King. I'm still winning.
Who are you to talk about the 'old me' anyway? I won the X-Treme Title six days before you came to the XWF. I'm not saying that you're completely clueless, I'm sure you've tuned into some XWF LIVE events on your television down in the land down under. I'm sure you've seen everything that I've done since I've come to this fine organization. But how could you possible know the 'real Doctor'? Sure, a few others have claimed that I've lost my touch in recent weeks, but is there proof of that? If there is. Where?! I feel like a broken record here, my friend, and in no way is this an argument. Simply because if it was, you'd have no leg to stand on. If you didn't want a history lesson, Mister Fernando, perhaps you should try to make more sense when you speak. As I said, I'm sure before you arrived here you've watched us all in action. If you haven't, I'm sure you've played all the events back to see what you've missed. Just as you did the other day. You did everyone the favor of repeating nearly everything I said and picking every word apart.
It's quite intimidating!
Let me fill you in on a few things here. Throwing my own words back at me does nothing for you. So many in the past have tried that tactic, they've all failed. Except for Jacob, of course. Oh! There I go again. Still hung up on that loss so long ago... My, oh my. What am I to do? Should I challenge him to a rematch?! Should continue to hide from any possible chance that him and I could end up in opposite corners again? Or should I just quit talking about it?? Mister Fernando, as I've said before, Jacob and I have a long history here in the XWF. As soon as you were placed into a contendership match for his title, you lacked interest. You had no interest in his title, at all. Strong words for someone who is just barely getting broken in here. I'm not sure I've seen anyone so green come into an organization and not be interested in a certain title. Do you believe you're that good that you can just come in and choose your battles? Why waste time with this measly X-Treme Title? Why not skip over the entire XWF roster and chase after the Universal Title? After all the two-time Universal Champion, Morbid Angel, is no match for you. Instead, you choose to somewhat make your way through the ranks. You make it sound like holding the X-Treme Title long enough for a briefcase is some easy feat. Did I make it look.... easy? Maybe I did. I do like your plans of bringing the prestige and honesty back to the title. The truth is I'm not sure where it was lost. After all, I am the King of the XWF. What better way to bring prestige to a title than have the King hold it?
Wait, wait. I know what you're thinking. We're going back to my lack of title defenses correct? Here we go again, right?
Just to clarify, Mister Fernando, my two title defenses were approximately six and a half weeks from the time I won the title at the beginning of December. Right?
It is NOW, that I've held the title for nearly eight weeks. Sorry to throw so much information and detail into just a couple of sentences. Perhaps if you'd quit stopping and rewinding and focusing on every word that comes out of my mouth, you'd understand what I'm saying a little clearer... Honestly, my friend, you're better than this. I see your potential. I seen it when you came to me with your challenge. Oh, wait. You said you didn't challenge me. Or, shout out a challenge for that matter. Okay, maybe you whispered the challenge. Or asked nicely. Either way, it was you who came to me. Allow me.
(01-25-2015, 01:59 PM)Austin Fernando Said: "I couldn't help but notice that you defended your X-Treme Title, Doctor."
"Well, there's no way I wouldn't have noticed... considering I was a lumberjack for the match."
"Good work."
"In a tragic turn of events, I've been forced to use my Television Title match earlier than I planned."
"But that doesn't matter, should I happen to lose that match, make no mistake about it."
"I'm coming for that X-Treme Title, it's only a matter of time."
"That's why I'm here right now..."
"To challenge you for that very belt."
"Do you accept the challenge? It doesn't matter if you do or don't, I will be on my way to getting a shot at the belt."
"Whether it's sooner or later... I will be getting MY shot."
"Enjoy the rest of your day, Doc."
That was rather polite. What happened to that? Was it because I waited two days to get back to you?
If you haven't noticed, my friend, I never jump when approached by someone. King, remember? Maybe I was just giving you the opportunity to think about what you've done. Have a chance to reconsider jumping the gun.
I could be wrong though.
You could be ready for title contention here in the XWF. After all, you did win that ladder match consisting of top talent. What a waste of time though, right?
I'm going to be careful here to not contradict myself again... I'm ready for your challenge. As I said previously, I adore the competition. Oh! Did I do it? Hmmmmm.
I don't believe I did. Who's the one being cute? You look at my achievements and nearly every single one leading up to my victory December 3rd were a week apart. A guy takes a week off and gets ridiculed for it? Come on, Mister Fernando. I'm not weak. I'm not tired. I'm just playing the game. The X-Treme Title is of very, very high demand. Are you aware of how many XWF'r's have approached me behind the scenes asking to buy the title from me? Or even go as far as want to buy my briefcase? A decent handful. Are you aware of how many times I've kicked out of their feeble pin attempts? Perhaps you didn't know, but this belt is defended twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year. So, yes, high demand. I don't believe they've chosen to purchase the title from the Doctor because I'm weak or old. I believe they've chosen to go about that path because they know if they challenge me directly, there's not way they're coming out on top. There's no possible way they're walking away with my title. Honestly, are you sure you want the pressure of being X-Treme Champion? Every step you take around the XWF arena you must do with eyes in the back of your head. People you thought you could trust, turn their backs on you immediately for a chance to sneak up and get the best of you. Followed by voice mails, emails... Pleading the Doctor to give up his title. Begging because I've accomplished what every X-Treme Champion desires to accomplish by obtaining the 24/7 briefcase. To this day, I'm still asked what the price would be to drop my title. What they fail to realize, what YOU fail to realize is that my time as X-Treme Champion is far from over. I've proved that I can hold this title and fight the odds. I DO have eyes in the back of my head. I've kicked out of the impossible. I've defended my title. I've defended my statements as being the best. If it takes me taking you down like I've done everyone else, so be it, Mister Fernando. You'll be kicking yourself next week when you realize you've wasted your time.
I'm looking forward to hearing from you again, my friend. I'm looking forward to hearing you play back everything I've just said. Please, exploit my contradictions and share with everyone how weak I've become in the last few weeks. The change that you claim has taken over the XWF, that you claim I fear so much... The big change here, is me, Mister Fernando. The bar has been raised and I am the one holding it. The very instance that someone approaches me, tries climbing that mountain, and tries reaching that bar... I take that bar and beat them over the head with it. Back down the mountain where you belong. Back down with the bottom-feeders like Maverick. Maybe you'll realize that competing for the Television Title wouldn't be so bad.
In the distance, making the twists and turns off of that very highway were three squad cars, the tour bus, and a smaller police van.
Aha! It seems my friends are just arriving.
This is all for now, Mister Fernando. As I said, I'm looking forward to hearing from you. I'm ready for you to pick apart everything I've just said to you. Break it down for everyone, my friend.
I've got you right where I want you.
All four vehicles approach the building and park in their designated parking places. The Doctor watches as the three police officers step out of their cars and one other steps out of the van.
"Sorry to bother you guys at home, but there's no way we could've transported all of these guys in the cars."
The officers who drove the van and tour bus say nothing, the one just waves and goes back to their own vehicle. They were not in uniform, they must've just called them in to assist them with bringing in the new meat.
"Whatever, assholes."
One of the officers opens the back door of the van and reveals all thirteen minstrels and the Bartender all seated in the back with their hands all bound together.
"Alright, scabs! Move out!"
One of the officers snaps his fingers and calls out to them. They all stand up and, in single-file, step out from the back of the van. They all stand in a row and are slowly moved inside the building. As they head towards the entrance, they all see the Doctor sitting alone on the bench in front of the building. None of them say a word except for the Bartender. The Bartender tries to stop in front of him, but is pushed along by one of the officers.
"Hey! HEY! Where the hell have you been? You see? You see what you got me into here?! What am I--"
"Keep moving!"
The officer plants an elbow into the back of the head of the Bartender and his face hits the concrete in front of him. Before he gets his vision back, two of the officers pick him back up to his feet. They look down at the old man sitting on the bench.
"You got a problem, old-timer?"
Hm. Such disrespect from an officer of the law. Hm.
"On your feet."
One of the officers grab the old man by the arm and lifts him up to his feet. As the Doctor gets up and small bag falls from his clothing.
"What do we have here?"
The officer reaches down and picks up the bag. It's filled with a green herbal substance. The officer sniffs the bag.
"Oh, snap!"
The officer nearly gets a high from just sniffing the bag.
"Alright! You're coming with me!"
As the last of the minstrels are pushed into the building, the Doctor is escorted by the third officer as well. He's pushed into a cell with his companions and locked up.
It's a smaller sized jailhouse. Obviously meant to serve more as a drunk tank than anything, all of the men just arrested were placed into the same cell together. They're the only ones in there as well. The three officers are the only ones on duty now apparently too, as the building is empty besides the young girl running the dispatch radio a few rooms away. The three officers all gather around a small desk and sit down.
"Look at this shit the old man had."
The officer slaps the bag down onto the table.
"Holy, shit! That stuff stinks. What are you waiting for? Grab the papers!"
"Already have some!"
The one officer reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of papers and begins breaking up a small pile of the green herbal substance on the desk. He pinches the pile and spreads it across the folded paper and wraps it up.
"There we are!"
The one who did the wrapping holds the hand made cigarette out, only for it to be grabbed by one of the other officers. It's lit and passed around a few times.
The officers cough and gag on the smoke as they inhale it and fall back into their seat.
Meanwhile, in the jail cell.
"Now what?"
One of the flute players speaks up finally.
Have some patience, my friends. I believe our good Bartender has something he'd like to share with us.
The Bartender reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key ring.
"How did you--?!"
The banjo player looks at the Bartender in disbelief.
"Well, I was trying to talk to pops here before they shoved me down to the ground. While they were wrestling me back up to my feet, my handcuffs got caught on one of their belts and when they pushed me away the keys came with. I think they were so caught up with the Doc they didn't notice."
And they're not going to notice now.
They can barely see out around the corner to the room the officers were all sitting. They can see each of them passed out face down on the table after partaking in a little puff puff pass. They're so incapacitated, it's almost like they've turned to stone.
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