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Centurion · (03-28-2021)

(Nature is healing.

There are many ways you can tell that the world is getting back to normal - fans attending football games, bars and beaches open to the public.

Centurion and his posse cruising the streets and the casinos of Las Vegas.

We open up inside a limo in Las Vegas, Nevada. There, we see Centurion sitting in the center of the back most seat. His Fliehr wig is gone, but the rest of his outfit looks pretty much the same - expensive suit, gold watch, sunglasses, etc. Sitting to his left, wearing a high priced suit of her own, is Ruby, and sitting to his right is Walter Crowe. The rest of his crew - Nellie, Erin, Allison, and Jocelyn - sit along the side. The champagne is flowing, and the party has started.)

Ruby: (to Centurion) You know what I'm going to ask you to do, right?

Centurion: Drink responsibly, don't gamble away my life, and avoid sleeping with prostitutes?

Ruby: ...I wasn't going to add that last part, but now that you mention it…

Centurion: Everything will be fine. This week is less about me and more about the rest of you. Just sort of my way of saying "thanks for sticking by me". We've had a pretty good 2021 so far, and with the XWF in Las Vegas for March Madness, I figured now would be the perfect time to give back a bit.

Jocelyn: Goin to be honest with ya, though - I haven't done fuck all.

Centurion: You married my sister, which is a job in and of itself.

(Allison doesn't say anything - she just gives a slight nod while raising her champagne glass before taking a sip.)

Centurion: Now look, don't go too crazy tonight. The real party begins after March Madness. If you tank too many drinks now, there's no way your body is going to be able to handle the after party.

Erin: You underestimate my power.

Allison: And you overestimate mine. I'll probably be hungover after this one glass of champagne. Not drunk. I'll skip right to being hungover. And it will last about 6 days.

Centurion: The joys of getting old.

(The limo begins to slow, and eventually it comes to a complete stop. After a few seconds, the driver opens the back door and stands to the side.)

Centurion: Alright folks, watch your heads.

(Centurion grabs a box that is on the floor in front of him and follows Walter out of the limo. The rest follow behind them, and they take a quick second to soak in their surroundings.

They are standing between a row of hedges and the front entrance to Excalibur Casino & Hotel. The tall castle like structures block the setting sun, and several hotel workers are scattered about, waiting to help whoever pulls up next. Centurion adjusts his to and his cuffs before walking toward the door. Two hotel staff instantly grab both doors and open them, allowing Centurion and his box to walk in. Ruby follows behind, but stops before she walks into the building.)

Ruby: Thank you very much! This is excellent service. See, this is why America needs to raise the minimum wage.

Walter: Ruby, if you stop to give a thank you speech to everyone who is courteous to you, you're going to have a long weekend.

Ruby: Well, I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.

(Ruby and the rest of the group step into the lobby of the casino. Off to the left is the hotel check in, straight ahead is a hallway that leads to the rest of the casino and hotel, and to the right is a concierge desk.)

Centurion: Ladies, you all go on ahead. Scout out the casino floor and the lounge. Walter and I have to take care of something.

(The women of the group don't wait for any sort of confirmation as they take off from Centurion and Walter. Walter kind of frowns as he looks over at Centurion.)

Walter: They seemed real happy to leave us behind.

Centurion: I don't blame them. I spend all day with me and I can barely stand myself.

Walter: Fair.

(The two walk up to the concierge desk, where an overly excited looking man stands with a smile on his face, ready to great the two suit clad men.)

Concierge: Hello, and welcome to Excalibur. How may I be of assistance?

Centurion: Hi there. I have a package here for a friend of mine. He's staying on the strip. His room number and hotel is listed inside the box. He goes by Diesel. I think his real name might be Kevin? Not 100% sure, but it's a really important gift that needs to get to him before Sunday. Can you do that for me?

Concierge: Absolutely sir.

Walter: You're sending a gift to Diesel? Oh Lord. Andy...what's in that box?

Centurion: Oh, I wanted to send him something to make it known that there are no real hard feelings between the two of us. Something that I know he would enjoy. There's always a lot of talk that this is one of his favorite things in the entire world, and I figured I'd be the bigger person and give it to him.

(Centurion opens up the box and pulls out a large plastic bottle, like one you would see holding pretzels or any other snack item, and sets it on the table. The container is filled to the top with pills, and no other markings or labels are seen in it.)

Walter: Wha...what the hell is that?

Centurion: That...is ten thousand Somas.

(Walter and the concierge both take a step back, as if Centurion just revealed that he had a bomb.)

Walter: What in the world?!

Centurion: If there's one thing Diesel loves more than kicking people in the face very slowly and talking like it's still 1995, it's shoving Carisoprodol down his throat like a fucking champion.

Walter: Where did you even FIND ten thousand Somas.

Centurion: I have a guy. Back in my worst days, when I was snorting blow off the tits of Filipino hookers with Donald Trump, there was a guy who I would always contact that would cater to the "high rollers". He's like...a celebrity drug dealer. He was real surprised when he heard my voice again. He just assumed I was dead.

Walter: Isn't carrying around that amount of prescription medication highly illegal?

Centurion: Walter...it's Vegas. There are no laws in Vegas.

Walter: That's not how this works...that's not how any of this works.

Centurion: (To the concierge) Can you do this for me?

Concierge: Absolutely sir, but transporting something of this...value may be slightly more difficult than normal. It may require a higher delivery fee...up front.

(Centurion points at the concierge and gives him a wink and a nod as he pulls out his wallet from his inside jacket pocket. He grabs a few bills and slides them down on the table. The concierge immediately takes the money before placing the bottle back into the box and stepping away from the desk. Centurion and Walter, meanwhile, walk in the other direction.)

Walter: You know, it may seem to many as if your trying to get Diesel to OD before your match so you don't have to fight him.

Centurion: Any lesser man and you'd be right, but pills to Diesel is like spinach to Popeye. It doesn't kill him - it powers him up. And I want him to be as stoned and impervious to pain as he possible can be. I want a challenge.

Walter: You don't think fighting a man of his size is challenging enough?

Centurion: No. Not really. The dude is just tell and awkward. He has no real size to him. It's why he stinks up the joint everytime he's in the ring. The moment I get him to the ground, he's fucked.

Walter: You say that likes it's going to be easy.

Centurion: Of course it's going to be easy! Diesel's quads are held together by tissue paper and wishes. A slight breeze will get those to pop. If he can make it all the way down to the ring, I'll be able to ground him with no problem whatsoever.

(Centurion and Walter are about to make it onto the casino floor, but they stop before taking the steps down. They spot the ladies in the crowd, all standing around the roulette table and not caring one iota that Centurion and Walter aren't there. Walter looks to his right, where there is a small, unoccupied sports bar. He nods in that general direction, and he and Centurion walk into the bar. They sit down on their stools, and the bartender approaches them.)

Bartender: What can I get you?

Centurion: Walter here will have a vodka martini. And I'll have a scotch on the rocks, single malt.

(The bartender places down two small napkins to serve as drink coasters before walking away to make the drinks.)

Walter: You know I'm not worried about you and Diesel one on one, right? Everyone knows you'd destroy him. Even Diesel. And THAT is what scares me.

Centurion: You think BoB is going to get involved.

Walter: I KNOW BoB is going to get involved.

Centurion: Don't be so sure. Oswald has an electrified cell match earlier in the night. Fury is in the tournament. Thunder Knuckles and Robbie Bourbon have their own problems to deal with. I don't even know if Osira is still in BoB, or if that was just one of her many ADHD moments. The only one not booked is Barney, and I could care less what he does. Here's what you have to remember about BoB - for all the talk about them being a "unit", they are very selfish. Each member is only going to care about themselves. So Miss Fury isn't going to lift a finger to help Diesel if it potentially compromises her chances at winning the tournament.

(The bartender returns with the drinks, and Centurion and Walter both take a sip before continuing their conversation.)

Walter: I think you underestimate the lengths BoB would go to in order to asset their dominance.

Centurion: And I think you overestimate how much BoB actually gives a shit about me. They don't like me. That is obvious. But I offer them nothing at the moment. Fury, the Bastards, even Oswald doesn't hold me in very high regard. For all my background and with the long legacy I have, they flat out don't care. So why would they stick their necks out to win a match that they think has no barring on their future?

Walter: That's pretty harsh.

Centurion: It's the truth! I don't have a title. I'm not the gatekeeper to anything. I am not even in contention for a belt right now. The only thing BoB cares about at this moment is securing their gold. Some old legend gets mad because they beat up his girlfriend? Hell, just let the dumb muscle take care of it. They don't care is Diesel wins or loses. They just want him around to powerbomb people when they need it, and he's too stupid to realize that he's nothing more than a hired gun used as fodder. He's basically Herschel Kiss, only with less personality.

Walter: Hey, don't put down Herschel Kiss. That man is a top quality athlete.

Centurion: You're right. My apologies to Big Puddin'.

Walter: All of this makes sense, I guess. I just never take anything for granted with it comes to those people. You don't know if there's a mysterious new member joining the faction. Some driftwood washed ashore that BoB considers to be recyclable talent.

Centurion: Maybe, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Nothing you can really do to prevent that.

(As Centurion and Walter take another sip of their drinks, the clicking of high heels can be heard from behind them. They turn to see Nellie, Erin, and Ruby walking into the bar. Nellie has her hands on her hips, but Ruby walks right up to Centurion and puts her arm around Centurion's shoulders.)

Nellie: You two just going to sit here and get drunk all night?

Centurion: The thought had crossed our minds.

Walter: We saw that you ladies were having a good time without us, so we decided to dip in for a quick drink.

Ruby: Well, hurry up. I found the arcade, and they have what I can only describe as the world's largest Pacman machine. Also, it's directly connected to a Dairy Queen.

Centurion: Wait... seriously?

Ruby: Yeah. So you can like, grab an Orange Julius and play Cruisin USA.

(Centurion's eyes go big as he glances over at Walter. He then turns and grabs his scotch before taking a big gulp and setting it back down on the bar. He quickly stands up and tosses some money on the bar.)

Centurion: Gotta go!

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