Post by Fizz on Mar 26, 2012 20:32:23 GMT -5
-=- The setting is a small sports bar in Austin Texas. The night is crawling along, with eleven o’clock fast approaching. The patrons are drinking and watching yet another replay of the draft. The air is cool in the basement-based bar, and a sudden wave of warm air is felt as the door at the top of the stairs opens. Two feet, clad in black steel-toe paratrooper-issue stomping boots begin to pound down the steps. Wrapping the figure’s legs are grey cargo pants tucked into the boots. Half a second later we see a black t-shirt with the letters “F--I--Z--Z” written across the front in orange lettering surrounded by a green border. Everyone in the bar turns and looks, buzzing with instant anticipation of seeing someone famous, like George Clooney. Then we see Fizz’s head, a look of angry amusement on his face as every mouth in the bar drops. Some patrons, slightly more inebriated than most, instantly heckle the diminutive dude. Fizz ignores them, and walks into the bar as he bounces something on his shoulder. It’s a miniature Boston Bruins hockey stick, with the handle heavily taped in orange duct tape, a child's toy. Fizz calmly strolls up to the bar and rests upon one of the stools. -=-
[/color]Fizz: Hey bartender, gimme a mug of Jack Daniels.
Bartender: You want a MUG of Jack Daniels?
Fizz: ......Yes, I do.
Bartender: Suit yourself, buddy.
-=- The bartender hands Fizz a mug filled with Tennessee whiskey -=-
Bartender: That’ll be....eh, about six bucks, I figure.
-=- Fizz pulls a $100 bill out of his bright orange velcro wallet and tosses it at the bartender. He then picks up the mug of JD, stands on the stool, and sits on the bar with his feet resting on the stool. He takes a swig of the whiskey followed by a deep breath to alleviate the burning -=-
Fizz: So, I came here for a-
-=- Fizz sees that some of the patrons of the bar are still more concerned with the recent trade of Tim Tebow -=-
Fan 1: New York?!?! TEBOW'S THE MAN!!!!!
Fan 2: I know!!! Manning my ass!!!
Fan 3: Well, Manning is good, but he’s not as proven as Tebow.
Fan 2: That doesn’t matter. College or not, good players are good players. They don’t need to play the college game just to prove that.
Fan 3: That’s horse shit!
Fan 1: Yeah. Some of these punks comin’ into the NFL straight outta’ high school don’t have the maturity, the presence of mind you need on the field! You watch the guys in college ball, you can see ‘em get better year by year!
Fan 2: They can get just as good by force-feedin’ ‘em that experience. They get the same exposure in less time when they hit the NFL early.
Fan 3: I sat back for four years and watched Manning perfect his game. From freshman to senior year, he went from an unpolished stone to a fuckin’ DIAMOND in that sport. That’s the edge college gives ya’. And that’s why these kids shouldn’t be jumpin’ the gun like they are.
Fan 1: Damn straight! We’ve all seen some o’ these kids crack under the pressure!
- C - R - A - C - K -
Fizz: Are you guys through?
-=- Fizz’s hockey stick is resting between the two pieces of what was, until a second ago, the table the three sports fans were sitting at. Fizz’s eyes are flaring with anger at these three fans’ disregard for his presence. The three fans sit in their chairs, arms at their sides, listening intently to anything Fizz has to say. So, too, is everyone else in the bar. No one wants to be the person to piss off a midget -=-
Fizz: Alright, shit-suckers, I’m here to say my piece. I’m here to prove a point. And I’m SURE AS HELL NOT HERE TO BE IGNORED.
-=- Everyone in the bar in Fizz's eyes, now fearing for their well being and their very lives, nods slowly. Fizz strides back to the bar and perches on it with his feet back on the stool. Fizz sets the hockey stick on the bar to his right, and pats it once before picking up his mug of Jack Daniels. He takes another swig, swallows, and addresses the whole bar -=-
Fizz: Who here has heard of a UWA Wrestler called Glacier?
-=- Most people in the bar slowly and cautiously raise their hands. Those who don’t look like they want to, but are afraid of Fizz’s presumably angry reaction. Content that all of those in attendance tonight are familiar with Underground Wrestling’s star, he continues -=-
Fizz: Okay. And who here is a FAN of Mr. Glacier? Don’t worry, I’m just taking a poll. You know, trying to field out my audience so I know how to proceed with my little soapbox rant. I won’t bite, just give me the truth. Who here likes our friend Glacier?
-=- Some in the bar now raises their hand, although still cautious -=-
Fizz: Alrighty. How many of you folks watch UWA Counterstrike? Anyone?
-=- A good portion of the bargoers, maybe around sixty-five percent, raise their hands -=-
Fizz: Not bad, not bad. Do you guys know who I am?
-=- Only one man nods, and he raises his hand. He quickly glances around and realizes no one else has their hand raised, and his hand drops fast -=-
Fizz: Do you have a question for the teacher, little boy?
Bargoer: No....I, uh, no sir. It’s just that, you know, everyone’s been raising their hand, so I, uh, I....you know, I raised my hand for....your....uh, question. You know.
Fizz: Okay, you know, so you were, you know, raising your, you know, hand to, you know, let me, you know, know that you, you know, knew who I, you know, was? Is that....you know....correct?
Bargoer: Um, yes sir, you kn....I mean....yes, yes it is.
Fizz: Ah, okay. Well, would you care to let the gallery know just who I, you know, am? If you’d be so kind, that is.
Bargoer: You....you’re Fizz.
-=- Fizz leans forward a bit with a mockingly shocked look on his face -=-
Fizz: I AM?! You mean THE FIZZ? The former longest reigning Flyweight Champion of the World, who, I might add, was NEVER beaten for the belt?! The former two time Cruiserweight World Champ who beat two seven foot giants at the SAME TIME?! The soon-to-be UWA World Champ?! The man who, this Wednesday, is going to KICK GLACIER’S LITTLE DICK-LICKIN’ ASS?!?! THAT Fizz?!?!?!
Bargoer: *In a very dull and slightly mocking tone* Yeah. THAT one.
Fizz: Okay. Thanks for clarifying that for everyone in attendance tonight. That’s right, people!!! I am Fizz, and I am the FRESHMAKER!
-=- The faces of everyone in the bar are now slightly skewed from fear into anger. Fizz ignores them, and takes another swig of whiskey -=-
Fizz: I don’t play for fun anymore. I don’t do whatever it takes to make you mindless sheep cheer for me. I play for KEEPS. And I do whatever it takes to WIN. Not too long ago, I was a man of the people. I was angry, I was disturbed, and I was bordering on insanity every second of my existence....but I still fought for the cheers. I used the fans’ approval as a way to make myself feel better about my own life. But I realized something when I won the Skyweight Championship. I realized suddenly that winning was more important than that cheer I got when I ran down the isle. The old me might have eliminated someone by, say, giving him a bulldog all the way to the floor. Sure, he would have been out, but SO WOULD I. Kill my chances for another weight divisional title in that old federation I was in, AND for revenge, just for one pop from the fans. Does that make sense? Does that make the old Fizz better? I DON’T THINK SO. Because this Wednesday, it’s Glacier versus Fizz in my debut match. I’ve waited for years and years to get in the ring of a corporation that I could help build up from the ground level. Now I get to do that in a match versus Glacier. One on one.
-=- Fizz picks up his mug to take another sip of JD -=-
Woman: That’s bullshit, you sorry little shit!!!
-=- Fizz is interrupted in mid-sip. He swallows, and looks over at the woman -=-
Fizz: ......Excuse me?
-=- Fizz picks up his hockey stick, hops off the bar, and begins to spin the stick in his hands as he talks -=-[/i]
[/color]Fizz: Let me explain something to you, miss.
-=- Fizz begins walking towards her -=-
Fizz: What kind of brainless idiot speaks out for no reason? You look like you're about as stupid as the rest of the people in here. I know you've seen me before, because I'm a big star. I might be short in stature, but I'm BIG where it counts, sugartits! I might be small, but I pack a huge punch. Plus, I'm not stupid like you are, whore, I also learned to carry a piece with me, in case things get a little too out of hand.
-=- Fizz is now right in the woman’s face, both hands gripping the hockey stick tightly. His knuckles turn white as he continues ranting -=-
Fizz: I'M A STAR, YOU BITCH, A REAL STAR FOR THE UWA TO GET BEHIND! NOT GLACIER! NOT THE SCORPION. NOT SEAN POWERS. NOT TOAST. NO ONE BUT ME, DO YOU ACTUALLY THINK THAT I'M NOT?!?!
Woman: *Terrified beyond belief* N-n-nn-n-nnn-no.
Fizz: RIGHT. ARE THEY WORTHY OF BEING CHAMPIONS?
Woman: N-nn-no!
Fizz: RIGHT. AM I WORTHY OF BEING A CHAMPION?!
Woman: Y-yy-y-YES!
Fizz: DOESN’T THAT THEN MEAN THAT I AM A STAR?
Woman: I-I-I sup-suppose, y-yes.
- C – R – A – C – K -
-=- Fizz slams his hockey stick straight down onto the floor handle-first and leans against it. He now steps onto an inclined area of the room, climbs on a stool, leans over, putting his weight into the stick, and whispers directly into the woman’s ear. His lips are less than an inch from the side of her head, and she is visibly shaking -=-
Fizz: THANK YOU.
-=- The door to the bar opens, and four massive bouncers begin to walk down the steps. They walk straight for the midget Fizz who is now mocking the rest of the inebriated bargoers. No one wants to touch him for fear that he will either take out his piece and shoot someone or that they will injure the midget by just slapping him. But the bouncers don't have that look of concern, they only have a look of anger.
Fizz: Shit, time to go!
-=- Fizz tosses down his stick, hops off the stool and then scurries past the four bouncers by sliding underneath a table and then running out of the bar. -=-[/i]
[/color]Fizz: Hey bartender, gimme a mug of Jack Daniels.
Bartender: You want a MUG of Jack Daniels?
Fizz: ......Yes, I do.
Bartender: Suit yourself, buddy.
-=- The bartender hands Fizz a mug filled with Tennessee whiskey -=-
Bartender: That’ll be....eh, about six bucks, I figure.
-=- Fizz pulls a $100 bill out of his bright orange velcro wallet and tosses it at the bartender. He then picks up the mug of JD, stands on the stool, and sits on the bar with his feet resting on the stool. He takes a swig of the whiskey followed by a deep breath to alleviate the burning -=-
Fizz: So, I came here for a-
-=- Fizz sees that some of the patrons of the bar are still more concerned with the recent trade of Tim Tebow -=-
Fan 1: New York?!?! TEBOW'S THE MAN!!!!!
Fan 2: I know!!! Manning my ass!!!
Fan 3: Well, Manning is good, but he’s not as proven as Tebow.
Fan 2: That doesn’t matter. College or not, good players are good players. They don’t need to play the college game just to prove that.
Fan 3: That’s horse shit!
Fan 1: Yeah. Some of these punks comin’ into the NFL straight outta’ high school don’t have the maturity, the presence of mind you need on the field! You watch the guys in college ball, you can see ‘em get better year by year!
Fan 2: They can get just as good by force-feedin’ ‘em that experience. They get the same exposure in less time when they hit the NFL early.
Fan 3: I sat back for four years and watched Manning perfect his game. From freshman to senior year, he went from an unpolished stone to a fuckin’ DIAMOND in that sport. That’s the edge college gives ya’. And that’s why these kids shouldn’t be jumpin’ the gun like they are.
Fan 1: Damn straight! We’ve all seen some o’ these kids crack under the pressure!
- C - R - A - C - K -
Fizz: Are you guys through?
-=- Fizz’s hockey stick is resting between the two pieces of what was, until a second ago, the table the three sports fans were sitting at. Fizz’s eyes are flaring with anger at these three fans’ disregard for his presence. The three fans sit in their chairs, arms at their sides, listening intently to anything Fizz has to say. So, too, is everyone else in the bar. No one wants to be the person to piss off a midget -=-
Fizz: Alright, shit-suckers, I’m here to say my piece. I’m here to prove a point. And I’m SURE AS HELL NOT HERE TO BE IGNORED.
-=- Everyone in the bar in Fizz's eyes, now fearing for their well being and their very lives, nods slowly. Fizz strides back to the bar and perches on it with his feet back on the stool. Fizz sets the hockey stick on the bar to his right, and pats it once before picking up his mug of Jack Daniels. He takes another swig, swallows, and addresses the whole bar -=-
Fizz: Who here has heard of a UWA Wrestler called Glacier?
-=- Most people in the bar slowly and cautiously raise their hands. Those who don’t look like they want to, but are afraid of Fizz’s presumably angry reaction. Content that all of those in attendance tonight are familiar with Underground Wrestling’s star, he continues -=-
Fizz: Okay. And who here is a FAN of Mr. Glacier? Don’t worry, I’m just taking a poll. You know, trying to field out my audience so I know how to proceed with my little soapbox rant. I won’t bite, just give me the truth. Who here likes our friend Glacier?
-=- Some in the bar now raises their hand, although still cautious -=-
Fizz: Alrighty. How many of you folks watch UWA Counterstrike? Anyone?
-=- A good portion of the bargoers, maybe around sixty-five percent, raise their hands -=-
Fizz: Not bad, not bad. Do you guys know who I am?
-=- Only one man nods, and he raises his hand. He quickly glances around and realizes no one else has their hand raised, and his hand drops fast -=-
Fizz: Do you have a question for the teacher, little boy?
Bargoer: No....I, uh, no sir. It’s just that, you know, everyone’s been raising their hand, so I, uh, I....you know, I raised my hand for....your....uh, question. You know.
Fizz: Okay, you know, so you were, you know, raising your, you know, hand to, you know, let me, you know, know that you, you know, knew who I, you know, was? Is that....you know....correct?
Bargoer: Um, yes sir, you kn....I mean....yes, yes it is.
Fizz: Ah, okay. Well, would you care to let the gallery know just who I, you know, am? If you’d be so kind, that is.
Bargoer: You....you’re Fizz.
-=- Fizz leans forward a bit with a mockingly shocked look on his face -=-
Fizz: I AM?! You mean THE FIZZ? The former longest reigning Flyweight Champion of the World, who, I might add, was NEVER beaten for the belt?! The former two time Cruiserweight World Champ who beat two seven foot giants at the SAME TIME?! The soon-to-be UWA World Champ?! The man who, this Wednesday, is going to KICK GLACIER’S LITTLE DICK-LICKIN’ ASS?!?! THAT Fizz?!?!?!
Bargoer: *In a very dull and slightly mocking tone* Yeah. THAT one.
Fizz: Okay. Thanks for clarifying that for everyone in attendance tonight. That’s right, people!!! I am Fizz, and I am the FRESHMAKER!
-=- The faces of everyone in the bar are now slightly skewed from fear into anger. Fizz ignores them, and takes another swig of whiskey -=-
Fizz: I don’t play for fun anymore. I don’t do whatever it takes to make you mindless sheep cheer for me. I play for KEEPS. And I do whatever it takes to WIN. Not too long ago, I was a man of the people. I was angry, I was disturbed, and I was bordering on insanity every second of my existence....but I still fought for the cheers. I used the fans’ approval as a way to make myself feel better about my own life. But I realized something when I won the Skyweight Championship. I realized suddenly that winning was more important than that cheer I got when I ran down the isle. The old me might have eliminated someone by, say, giving him a bulldog all the way to the floor. Sure, he would have been out, but SO WOULD I. Kill my chances for another weight divisional title in that old federation I was in, AND for revenge, just for one pop from the fans. Does that make sense? Does that make the old Fizz better? I DON’T THINK SO. Because this Wednesday, it’s Glacier versus Fizz in my debut match. I’ve waited for years and years to get in the ring of a corporation that I could help build up from the ground level. Now I get to do that in a match versus Glacier. One on one.
-=- Fizz picks up his mug to take another sip of JD -=-
Woman: That’s bullshit, you sorry little shit!!!
-=- Fizz is interrupted in mid-sip. He swallows, and looks over at the woman -=-
Fizz: ......Excuse me?
-=- Fizz picks up his hockey stick, hops off the bar, and begins to spin the stick in his hands as he talks -=-[/i]
[/color]Fizz: Let me explain something to you, miss.
-=- Fizz begins walking towards her -=-
Fizz: What kind of brainless idiot speaks out for no reason? You look like you're about as stupid as the rest of the people in here. I know you've seen me before, because I'm a big star. I might be short in stature, but I'm BIG where it counts, sugartits! I might be small, but I pack a huge punch. Plus, I'm not stupid like you are, whore, I also learned to carry a piece with me, in case things get a little too out of hand.
-=- Fizz is now right in the woman’s face, both hands gripping the hockey stick tightly. His knuckles turn white as he continues ranting -=-
Fizz: I'M A STAR, YOU BITCH, A REAL STAR FOR THE UWA TO GET BEHIND! NOT GLACIER! NOT THE SCORPION. NOT SEAN POWERS. NOT TOAST. NO ONE BUT ME, DO YOU ACTUALLY THINK THAT I'M NOT?!?!
Woman: *Terrified beyond belief* N-n-nn-n-nnn-no.
Fizz: RIGHT. ARE THEY WORTHY OF BEING CHAMPIONS?
Woman: N-nn-no!
Fizz: RIGHT. AM I WORTHY OF BEING A CHAMPION?!
Woman: Y-yy-y-YES!
Fizz: DOESN’T THAT THEN MEAN THAT I AM A STAR?
Woman: I-I-I sup-suppose, y-yes.
- C – R – A – C – K -
-=- Fizz slams his hockey stick straight down onto the floor handle-first and leans against it. He now steps onto an inclined area of the room, climbs on a stool, leans over, putting his weight into the stick, and whispers directly into the woman’s ear. His lips are less than an inch from the side of her head, and she is visibly shaking -=-
Fizz: THANK YOU.
-=- The door to the bar opens, and four massive bouncers begin to walk down the steps. They walk straight for the midget Fizz who is now mocking the rest of the inebriated bargoers. No one wants to touch him for fear that he will either take out his piece and shoot someone or that they will injure the midget by just slapping him. But the bouncers don't have that look of concern, they only have a look of anger.
Fizz: Shit, time to go!
-=- Fizz tosses down his stick, hops off the stool and then scurries past the four bouncers by sliding underneath a table and then running out of the bar. -=-[/i]
