Post by jeromew on May 7, 2007 18:17:03 GMT 10
-- WRESTLER INFO --
RING NAME: Jerome W.
REAL NAME: Jerome Wallace
HEIGHT: 6’1”
WEIGHT: 235lbs
HOMETOWN: Parts Unknown
DATE OF BIRTH: Unknown
ALIGNMENT: Neutral
WRESTLING STYLE: Hardcore Highflyer
APPEARANCE:
RING ATTIRE:
ENTRANCE MUSIC: Wayfaerer by In Flames
RING ENTRANCE (keep it brief, we are a big budget fed so there can be some pyro and lighting effects - the jumbo screen is known as the EMPIREtron):
The lights dim and “The Wayfaerer” by In Flames plays over the sound system. Jerome W emerges on top of the ramp with a pyrotechnic explosion on both sides. He then proceeds down the ramp, slapping hands with some of the front row audience along the way. Jerome climbs the apron and enters the ring. He proceeds to the nearest turnbuckle and starts shadowboxing at it for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the centre of the ring as the lights brighten and the music fades.
HISTORY: Coming soon.
MOVESET (choose between 10-25):
Swinging Neckbreaker
Headscissor Takedown
Russian Legsweep
Sitdown Neckbreaker
DDT
Dropkick
Springboard Leg Drop
Manhattan Drop
Jawbreaker
Bulldog-to-Headlock
Snap Suplex-to-Turnbuckle/Wall
Jerome leaps onto the second rope/equivalent platform and kicks off it with one foot. He then turns around to deliver a flying forearm.
SETUP MOVE:
1) Flying Chairshot
2) A series of quick jabs and hooks to the mid-section and face followed by a stiff uppercut.
DESCRIPTION:
1) A modified crossbody block; Jerome holds out a steelchair or a similar object in front of him while executing the crossbody for additional impact
FINISHING MOVE:
1) Panache
2) Super Panache
3) Saturday Night Special
4) 86ed
DESCRIPTION:
1) Jerome puts a three-quarter facelock on the opponent and runs up a vertical surface; usually the corner turnbuckles and jumps backwards, performing a backflip in the air. He then lands face down; driving the opponent back-first down to the mat.
2) Jerome executes a moonsault leap from the turnbuckle or an elevated position; catching a standing opponent on the neck with an outstretched arm and driving them back-first down to the mat/ground.
3) Shooting Star Double Knee Drop from the top rope.
4) Jerome lifts his opponent from the pumphandle position and flips them into a falling cutter.
HANDLER INFO --
NAME: Wilson
AGE: 22
FED HISTORY:
EMAIL: garagegrunge@airpost.net
AIM (if any):
SAMPLE ROLEPLAY (doesn't have to be for the character you're applying as):
Dayton, Ohio
Largest city in Montgomery County.
Home of the Wright Brothers, Paul Laurence Dunbar and supposedly; Robert Bruce Banner, alter-ego of the Incredible Hulk.
This would be the backdrop, the scenery, the setting of my upcoming ordeal against five other men in what they call a Final Encounter match.
No heavy purse, no payoff, not even a handshake; just a chance for a chance to try for some form of glory.
The problem with being a bum is that hope is a hard commodity to bank in on; especially when it’s not an accepted currency and there’s little else left in life except the clothes on your back.
Still, there’s an upside to all of this. I get paid as long as I put up a good enough show regardless of the outcome. In essence, I get paid to do what I’ve always done for almost nothing.
There’s always room for a street fighting man. As long as they can put up a show and a half…
-
“Ev'rywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
'Cause summer's here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy…”
Jerome W. awakes to the collective slurred singing of bawdy men who are very much on their way to an inebriated state of mind. Mick Jagger’s voice can barely be heard blaring out of the jukebox with the voices roaring over it. There are a few other patrons who stare at the group of men singing next to the jukebox but do little else. Jerome looks down at the bar counter to find an empty bottle. He raises his hand and a free bartender walks over to him.
“Get me another one,” he says while holding up the bottle. The bartender nods and takes the bottle from his hand and walks away to fulfil the order. Jerome reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet. He opens it up to retrieve some dollar bills; one of the flap compartments flips out to reveal a drivers license. Carl Peterson’s photo and name are ostentatiously displayed and printed on the front face of the license. After retrieving a few bills, Jerome closes the wallet and slips it back into his pocket. “I’ll make it up to you old pal,” he mutters to himself as the bartender arrives with his order. Jerome hands over the bills and receives his change. He places some of it into the tip jar before partaking his drink.
“Hey! Said my name is called disturbance
I'll shout and scream, I'll kill the king, I'll rail at all his servants…”
The group of men continue their singing beside the jukebox. One of them is probably feeding coins into the machine to ensure that they constantly keep getting the songs they want. Nobody in the bar seemed to dispute them over their musical tastes. Jerome realises why he avoided drinking in bars. Dives were preferable; peace, quiet and more than enough room for introspection. Bars were social places that proved to be much more hostile than they are supposed to be. Bars are where weekend warriors come in droves to congregate among their select drinking circles amidst loud music and louder voices still. They come to socialize but only with those they have known for sometime. In reality, there is little to no proactive social interaction going on; a person could be surrounded by a hundred strangers in the space of half an hour but not share a single word with either one. At the very least, dives were honest. They are stripped of the commercial furnishings and unnecessary trappings that give false impressions of social integration. Dives allow people to truly be themselves and let their hair down in a literal sense.
Above all, Jerome would never have had to put up with such an irritating racket in a proper dive. For a moment, he finds it ironic that his tendencies mirror that of a social elitist. Yet he is unable to ponder the implications of this as he drains his beer, hops onto his feet and makes his way towards the bathroom. On the way, he passes by the loud group beside the jukebox. Jerome pushes the door open and makes a beeline towards an available urinal. He unzips his pants and drains himself of a night’s worth of drinks. He contemplates this briefly; literally pissing his money away. Jerome decides not to linger on it; after all, it is Carl’s money.
After finishing up, Jerome washes his hands and pushes the toilet door open and makes his way back out into the bar. He plans to get one more drink before calling it a night. However, that plan is interrupted momentarily as he feels a thump on the right side of his body. It is immediately followed up by a rough pull of his collar which swings him around. He looks up and finds a red-faced man glaring at him.
“You got a problem with me dickwad?” asks the red-faced man. Jerome immediately surveys his surroundings. He realises that the person man-handling him was part of the group near the jukebox that had been providing the muzak for most of the night. Some of them were also giving him dirty looks while others had barely noticed. This is another major problem with bars; a lot of them are ticking time-bombs constantly on the verge of explosion. Whether this particular time-bomb goes off or not may very well depend on how Jerome will handle this situation.
“No, not at all,” answers Jerome. No witticisms, no double entendres, no sarcasm at all. He answers it as honestly as he could. However, it seemed to lack the desired effect as the man grips his collar with another hand and pulls Jerome towards him.
“You got a lot of f*cking nerve, eyeballing me like a bitch…” says the red-faced man. His voice is slurred and his movements are sloppy indicating an obvious state of aggressive inebriation. The man’s grip is shaky but rough nonetheless and a source of irritation for Jerome.
In a calm and collected voice, Jerome speaks, “I’d like you to take your hands off me,” he says. The red-faced man turns to his companions and slurs out, “Hey, this little sumbitch here wants me to take my hands off him,” he says and they respond in laughter. He turns back to Jerome and speaks again, “So, what are you going to do about it dickweed?” he asks.
Jerome clears his throat and nods, averting his eyes elsewhere. There were a few other patrons looking on but doing little else as always while others were blissfully unaware. In a sudden flash of movement, Jerome places his own hands on the man’s shoulders and jerks his head backwards and forwards in a quick motion; head-butting the red-faced man square in the nose. The man falls backwards towards his companions while clutching his face. The rest of the group sees this and they rise to their feet to act. One of them tries to land a punch on Jerome; who dodges it and pushes the assailant past him. Utilising the man’s own momentum; he runs head and shoulders first into a table. From the corner of his eye, Jerome manages to detect something being swung towards him. He manages to dodge the bar-stool being aimed at the back of his head and it crashes instead on another person sitting at the bar. Some of the other patrons didn’t take too kindly to this and immediately acted upon their objections. The proverbial time-bomb had finally gone off.
Soon, the atmosphere degenerates into what appears to be a brawl that spills across the bar. Jerome manages to dodge and land a few blows of his own in to clear a path towards the exit. The bouncers move in to restore order; manhandling patrons and restraining them but the effort proves to be difficult. Jerome takes advantage of this and makes his way towards the open exit. He had no intention of staying around for the inevitable conclusion.
He finally makes his way out onto the sidewalk; staggering out the door. Jerome reaches into his jacket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He lights one up and inhales deeply; breathing out the smoke into the night air. Amidst the shouting, breaking glass and chaos going on inside the bar; he could still hear Mick Jagger’s voice blaring out from the loud jukebox as he starts walking.
“There’s no place for a street fighting man
No!
Get down…”
-
As the night moves on, Jerome looks up to find a car moving parallel to him as he continues walking. The car itself appears to be luxury sedan of sorts, a BMW 7 series of a very recent make. Jerome nods impressively at the car as it hums along. The tinted window of the front drivers’ seat rolls down to reveal a familiar face. Jerome looks at it and stops in his tracks.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
Tyler Cross is sitting behind the wheel of the car. Jerome looks at the man sitting on the passenger seat and recognises him as Cooper Dale.
“Where do you live? I can give you a life…” says Tyler. Jerome seems hesitant about the offer while Cooper merely grins on at him. “C’mon, just get in the car,” says Tyler who unlocks the rear doors through the master lock. Jerome opens the rear passenger door and steps into the car. After shutting the door behind him, he admires the interior of the car. “Now this is a car…” he says with a low whistle, “You really do know how to live, don’t you Tyler?” he asks.
Continuing to drive, Tyler merely smirks as he sees Jerome through the rear-view mirror. “It’s a rental,” he answers as Jerome chuckles. “How did you know where to find me anyway?” asks Jerome. This time, Cooper Dale turns back and answers, “We just followed the noise and see which one of the local joints got busted up recently,” he says with a grin.
“So, how are you feeling about your upcoming match?” asks Tyler. Jerome shrugs his shoulders and answers, “I don’t know, what should I be feeling?”
Both Cooper and Tyler laugh at Jerome’s answer. “Some things never change,” remarks Cooper as Tyler nods in agreement. Jerome merely shrugs, “Well, what am I supposed to say? That I think I’m going to ace it? That I’m looking forward to getting my ass handed to me by five different people? You guys know me better than that,” he replies.
The near-quiet hum of the car is a testament to high-quality German automobile engineering. It also serves to be an unnerving part of the atmosphere during the brief silence between them. Finally, Tyler speaks up again, “Not exactly the most confident of answers but you’ve always scored points on honesty old friend,” he says. Jerome responds with a crude snort, “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” he asks. There is another brief few moments of silence between them before Tyler speaks again, “Yes,” he answers.
Jerome leans back on his seat and stretches out, taking full advantage of sitting in the rear of a luxury car. He breathes out a satisfied sigh before speaking, “So tell me, what are you guys doing out here anyway?” he asks.
“The reasons for that are twofold,” Tyler begins with his answer, “first of all we’d like to personally wish you the best of luck in your match. Secondly, it happens to be a viable stopover on the way to completing Cooper’s business,” he explains. Jerome nods in acknowledgement, “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is Cooper’s business?” he asks.
Cooper grins as Tyler answers, “Haven’t you heard? Our old friend here has gotten himself signed to a promotion. We’ll be flying off tomorrow to negotiate the final details of the contract,” he answers. Jerome nods again, “So that’s what it’s all about…” he says.
Tyler makes a turn at a roundabout and takes another turn to exit. “I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye old friend…” pausing to clear his throat before continuing, “…but I want you to know that regardless that I’ve always had a high regard for fellow alumni. If there’s anything you should need, don’t ever hesitate to call on me,” he says in a genuine tone. Jerome merely smirks in response before answering, “I’ll be alright. Don’t you worry about me,” he says confidently.
The car comes to a gradual stop and Tyler pulls up the handbrake. “I believe this is your intended destination,” he says. Jerome looks out to see his motel. “How did you know? I just barely checked in for the night…” he says with a startled expression on his face.
“I’ll see you sometime in the not-too-distant future then,” says Tyler with a smile. Jerome opens the door and exits the car, closing the door behind him. Tyler winds down the window, “Good luck and give them all a show no matter what,” he says. Jerome nods in agreement, “You bet your rich-ass I’ll give them a show,” he replies with a wide grin.
The BMW pulls away and drives off into the night, leaving Jerome W. alone on the pavement. He starts walking towards the motel, anticipating the worst from Carl when he realises that his wallet has gone missing again. Soon, he would have to make the final preparations and tune himself mentally onto the challenge that lies ahead;
Six men enter a ring.
Two men remain.
One man emerges victorious.
For Jerome W., the odds are as good as they get.
Carl Peterson opens the motel room door to find Jerome standing outside and grinning. He shakes his head as he lets Jerome into the room. Before Jerome can do or say anything else, Carl extends his hand with an open palm. Jerome chuckles before retrieving a wallet from his rear pants pocket and places it in Carl’s hand.
“I’ll pay you back later,” he says. There is a scowl on Carl’s face as he puts the wallet back into his own pocket, “You had better,” he replies.
RING NAME: Jerome W.
REAL NAME: Jerome Wallace
HEIGHT: 6’1”
WEIGHT: 235lbs
HOMETOWN: Parts Unknown
DATE OF BIRTH: Unknown
ALIGNMENT: Neutral
WRESTLING STYLE: Hardcore Highflyer
APPEARANCE:
RING ATTIRE:
ENTRANCE MUSIC: Wayfaerer by In Flames
RING ENTRANCE (keep it brief, we are a big budget fed so there can be some pyro and lighting effects - the jumbo screen is known as the EMPIREtron):
The lights dim and “The Wayfaerer” by In Flames plays over the sound system. Jerome W emerges on top of the ramp with a pyrotechnic explosion on both sides. He then proceeds down the ramp, slapping hands with some of the front row audience along the way. Jerome climbs the apron and enters the ring. He proceeds to the nearest turnbuckle and starts shadowboxing at it for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the centre of the ring as the lights brighten and the music fades.
HISTORY: Coming soon.
MOVESET (choose between 10-25):
Swinging Neckbreaker
Headscissor Takedown
Russian Legsweep
Sitdown Neckbreaker
DDT
Dropkick
Springboard Leg Drop
Manhattan Drop
Jawbreaker
Bulldog-to-Headlock
Snap Suplex-to-Turnbuckle/Wall
Jerome leaps onto the second rope/equivalent platform and kicks off it with one foot. He then turns around to deliver a flying forearm.
SETUP MOVE:
1) Flying Chairshot
2) A series of quick jabs and hooks to the mid-section and face followed by a stiff uppercut.
DESCRIPTION:
1) A modified crossbody block; Jerome holds out a steelchair or a similar object in front of him while executing the crossbody for additional impact
FINISHING MOVE:
1) Panache
2) Super Panache
3) Saturday Night Special
4) 86ed
DESCRIPTION:
1) Jerome puts a three-quarter facelock on the opponent and runs up a vertical surface; usually the corner turnbuckles and jumps backwards, performing a backflip in the air. He then lands face down; driving the opponent back-first down to the mat.
2) Jerome executes a moonsault leap from the turnbuckle or an elevated position; catching a standing opponent on the neck with an outstretched arm and driving them back-first down to the mat/ground.
3) Shooting Star Double Knee Drop from the top rope.
4) Jerome lifts his opponent from the pumphandle position and flips them into a falling cutter.
HANDLER INFO --
NAME: Wilson
AGE: 22
FED HISTORY:
EMAIL: garagegrunge@airpost.net
AIM (if any):
SAMPLE ROLEPLAY (doesn't have to be for the character you're applying as):
Dayton, Ohio
Largest city in Montgomery County.
Home of the Wright Brothers, Paul Laurence Dunbar and supposedly; Robert Bruce Banner, alter-ego of the Incredible Hulk.
This would be the backdrop, the scenery, the setting of my upcoming ordeal against five other men in what they call a Final Encounter match.
No heavy purse, no payoff, not even a handshake; just a chance for a chance to try for some form of glory.
The problem with being a bum is that hope is a hard commodity to bank in on; especially when it’s not an accepted currency and there’s little else left in life except the clothes on your back.
Still, there’s an upside to all of this. I get paid as long as I put up a good enough show regardless of the outcome. In essence, I get paid to do what I’ve always done for almost nothing.
There’s always room for a street fighting man. As long as they can put up a show and a half…
-
“Ev'rywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
'Cause summer's here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy…”
Jerome W. awakes to the collective slurred singing of bawdy men who are very much on their way to an inebriated state of mind. Mick Jagger’s voice can barely be heard blaring out of the jukebox with the voices roaring over it. There are a few other patrons who stare at the group of men singing next to the jukebox but do little else. Jerome looks down at the bar counter to find an empty bottle. He raises his hand and a free bartender walks over to him.
“Get me another one,” he says while holding up the bottle. The bartender nods and takes the bottle from his hand and walks away to fulfil the order. Jerome reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet. He opens it up to retrieve some dollar bills; one of the flap compartments flips out to reveal a drivers license. Carl Peterson’s photo and name are ostentatiously displayed and printed on the front face of the license. After retrieving a few bills, Jerome closes the wallet and slips it back into his pocket. “I’ll make it up to you old pal,” he mutters to himself as the bartender arrives with his order. Jerome hands over the bills and receives his change. He places some of it into the tip jar before partaking his drink.
“Hey! Said my name is called disturbance
I'll shout and scream, I'll kill the king, I'll rail at all his servants…”
The group of men continue their singing beside the jukebox. One of them is probably feeding coins into the machine to ensure that they constantly keep getting the songs they want. Nobody in the bar seemed to dispute them over their musical tastes. Jerome realises why he avoided drinking in bars. Dives were preferable; peace, quiet and more than enough room for introspection. Bars were social places that proved to be much more hostile than they are supposed to be. Bars are where weekend warriors come in droves to congregate among their select drinking circles amidst loud music and louder voices still. They come to socialize but only with those they have known for sometime. In reality, there is little to no proactive social interaction going on; a person could be surrounded by a hundred strangers in the space of half an hour but not share a single word with either one. At the very least, dives were honest. They are stripped of the commercial furnishings and unnecessary trappings that give false impressions of social integration. Dives allow people to truly be themselves and let their hair down in a literal sense.
Above all, Jerome would never have had to put up with such an irritating racket in a proper dive. For a moment, he finds it ironic that his tendencies mirror that of a social elitist. Yet he is unable to ponder the implications of this as he drains his beer, hops onto his feet and makes his way towards the bathroom. On the way, he passes by the loud group beside the jukebox. Jerome pushes the door open and makes a beeline towards an available urinal. He unzips his pants and drains himself of a night’s worth of drinks. He contemplates this briefly; literally pissing his money away. Jerome decides not to linger on it; after all, it is Carl’s money.
After finishing up, Jerome washes his hands and pushes the toilet door open and makes his way back out into the bar. He plans to get one more drink before calling it a night. However, that plan is interrupted momentarily as he feels a thump on the right side of his body. It is immediately followed up by a rough pull of his collar which swings him around. He looks up and finds a red-faced man glaring at him.
“You got a problem with me dickwad?” asks the red-faced man. Jerome immediately surveys his surroundings. He realises that the person man-handling him was part of the group near the jukebox that had been providing the muzak for most of the night. Some of them were also giving him dirty looks while others had barely noticed. This is another major problem with bars; a lot of them are ticking time-bombs constantly on the verge of explosion. Whether this particular time-bomb goes off or not may very well depend on how Jerome will handle this situation.
“No, not at all,” answers Jerome. No witticisms, no double entendres, no sarcasm at all. He answers it as honestly as he could. However, it seemed to lack the desired effect as the man grips his collar with another hand and pulls Jerome towards him.
“You got a lot of f*cking nerve, eyeballing me like a bitch…” says the red-faced man. His voice is slurred and his movements are sloppy indicating an obvious state of aggressive inebriation. The man’s grip is shaky but rough nonetheless and a source of irritation for Jerome.
In a calm and collected voice, Jerome speaks, “I’d like you to take your hands off me,” he says. The red-faced man turns to his companions and slurs out, “Hey, this little sumbitch here wants me to take my hands off him,” he says and they respond in laughter. He turns back to Jerome and speaks again, “So, what are you going to do about it dickweed?” he asks.
Jerome clears his throat and nods, averting his eyes elsewhere. There were a few other patrons looking on but doing little else as always while others were blissfully unaware. In a sudden flash of movement, Jerome places his own hands on the man’s shoulders and jerks his head backwards and forwards in a quick motion; head-butting the red-faced man square in the nose. The man falls backwards towards his companions while clutching his face. The rest of the group sees this and they rise to their feet to act. One of them tries to land a punch on Jerome; who dodges it and pushes the assailant past him. Utilising the man’s own momentum; he runs head and shoulders first into a table. From the corner of his eye, Jerome manages to detect something being swung towards him. He manages to dodge the bar-stool being aimed at the back of his head and it crashes instead on another person sitting at the bar. Some of the other patrons didn’t take too kindly to this and immediately acted upon their objections. The proverbial time-bomb had finally gone off.
Soon, the atmosphere degenerates into what appears to be a brawl that spills across the bar. Jerome manages to dodge and land a few blows of his own in to clear a path towards the exit. The bouncers move in to restore order; manhandling patrons and restraining them but the effort proves to be difficult. Jerome takes advantage of this and makes his way towards the open exit. He had no intention of staying around for the inevitable conclusion.
He finally makes his way out onto the sidewalk; staggering out the door. Jerome reaches into his jacket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He lights one up and inhales deeply; breathing out the smoke into the night air. Amidst the shouting, breaking glass and chaos going on inside the bar; he could still hear Mick Jagger’s voice blaring out from the loud jukebox as he starts walking.
“There’s no place for a street fighting man
No!
Get down…”
-
As the night moves on, Jerome looks up to find a car moving parallel to him as he continues walking. The car itself appears to be luxury sedan of sorts, a BMW 7 series of a very recent make. Jerome nods impressively at the car as it hums along. The tinted window of the front drivers’ seat rolls down to reveal a familiar face. Jerome looks at it and stops in his tracks.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
Tyler Cross is sitting behind the wheel of the car. Jerome looks at the man sitting on the passenger seat and recognises him as Cooper Dale.
“Where do you live? I can give you a life…” says Tyler. Jerome seems hesitant about the offer while Cooper merely grins on at him. “C’mon, just get in the car,” says Tyler who unlocks the rear doors through the master lock. Jerome opens the rear passenger door and steps into the car. After shutting the door behind him, he admires the interior of the car. “Now this is a car…” he says with a low whistle, “You really do know how to live, don’t you Tyler?” he asks.
Continuing to drive, Tyler merely smirks as he sees Jerome through the rear-view mirror. “It’s a rental,” he answers as Jerome chuckles. “How did you know where to find me anyway?” asks Jerome. This time, Cooper Dale turns back and answers, “We just followed the noise and see which one of the local joints got busted up recently,” he says with a grin.
“So, how are you feeling about your upcoming match?” asks Tyler. Jerome shrugs his shoulders and answers, “I don’t know, what should I be feeling?”
Both Cooper and Tyler laugh at Jerome’s answer. “Some things never change,” remarks Cooper as Tyler nods in agreement. Jerome merely shrugs, “Well, what am I supposed to say? That I think I’m going to ace it? That I’m looking forward to getting my ass handed to me by five different people? You guys know me better than that,” he replies.
The near-quiet hum of the car is a testament to high-quality German automobile engineering. It also serves to be an unnerving part of the atmosphere during the brief silence between them. Finally, Tyler speaks up again, “Not exactly the most confident of answers but you’ve always scored points on honesty old friend,” he says. Jerome responds with a crude snort, “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” he asks. There is another brief few moments of silence between them before Tyler speaks again, “Yes,” he answers.
Jerome leans back on his seat and stretches out, taking full advantage of sitting in the rear of a luxury car. He breathes out a satisfied sigh before speaking, “So tell me, what are you guys doing out here anyway?” he asks.
“The reasons for that are twofold,” Tyler begins with his answer, “first of all we’d like to personally wish you the best of luck in your match. Secondly, it happens to be a viable stopover on the way to completing Cooper’s business,” he explains. Jerome nods in acknowledgement, “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is Cooper’s business?” he asks.
Cooper grins as Tyler answers, “Haven’t you heard? Our old friend here has gotten himself signed to a promotion. We’ll be flying off tomorrow to negotiate the final details of the contract,” he answers. Jerome nods again, “So that’s what it’s all about…” he says.
Tyler makes a turn at a roundabout and takes another turn to exit. “I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye old friend…” pausing to clear his throat before continuing, “…but I want you to know that regardless that I’ve always had a high regard for fellow alumni. If there’s anything you should need, don’t ever hesitate to call on me,” he says in a genuine tone. Jerome merely smirks in response before answering, “I’ll be alright. Don’t you worry about me,” he says confidently.
The car comes to a gradual stop and Tyler pulls up the handbrake. “I believe this is your intended destination,” he says. Jerome looks out to see his motel. “How did you know? I just barely checked in for the night…” he says with a startled expression on his face.
“I’ll see you sometime in the not-too-distant future then,” says Tyler with a smile. Jerome opens the door and exits the car, closing the door behind him. Tyler winds down the window, “Good luck and give them all a show no matter what,” he says. Jerome nods in agreement, “You bet your rich-ass I’ll give them a show,” he replies with a wide grin.
The BMW pulls away and drives off into the night, leaving Jerome W. alone on the pavement. He starts walking towards the motel, anticipating the worst from Carl when he realises that his wallet has gone missing again. Soon, he would have to make the final preparations and tune himself mentally onto the challenge that lies ahead;
Six men enter a ring.
Two men remain.
One man emerges victorious.
For Jerome W., the odds are as good as they get.
Carl Peterson opens the motel room door to find Jerome standing outside and grinning. He shakes his head as he lets Jerome into the room. Before Jerome can do or say anything else, Carl extends his hand with an open palm. Jerome chuckles before retrieving a wallet from his rear pants pocket and places it in Carl’s hand.
“I’ll pay you back later,” he says. There is a scowl on Carl’s face as he puts the wallet back into his own pocket, “You had better,” he replies.
