Post by Pooler on Jul 29, 2011 22:17:06 GMT -6
“Necessity is not a fact, it’s an interpretation.”
Nietzsche
Flashback
July 16, 2011
XL Center
Hartford, Connecticut
The screams of the fans cheering on the main event resonate backstage as Pooler leans against a wall basking in the glow of a well earned victory. He and Alysson had come out on top thanks, in part, to Bates’ obvious disregard for rules. Guess he should have known that clotheslining a defenseless woman while she’s not looking was grounds for an automatic disqualification; and he’s the Honor champion? Pfft … but, as Pooler continues to stand there thinking about getting one up on ol’ Bates a different sound catches his attention.
Arguing …
There’s nothing quite like watching two people fight; I mean really get into a verbal beat down on each other. It’s not that weird uncomfortable feeling you get when you have to sit and watch mom and dad fighting at the dinner table; no … this kind of fighting is so much better. Pooler isn’t the only person backstage to take notice of the verbal altercation happening either. The tables of workers watching the Trauma video feed find their attention pulled to where Roxxxie and Kristoff Liam Bates stand. Roxxxie is visibly livid; her face is bright red and venom drips from every syllable she speaks.
He can’t hear what she’s saying at first but as he makes his way over to further enjoy the scene he notices her poking Bates in the chest with her finger.
“Oh, this is going to be great!” he muttered to himself as he began making his way through the small crowd that had begun to circle around the pair.
What happened next was almost to unbelievable to even comprehend; one second Roxxxie is tearing Bates up and down and putting the big goof in his place, the next …
the next he hears the phrase, ‘or what?’ before seeing Bates haul back with a fist clenched in anger and swing it forward, driving it straight into the left cheek of Roxxxie and sending her down to the ground. Pooler begins shoving people out of the way now, something in his head snapping and acting completely on instinct. Bates reaches down and grabs a fistful of Roxxxie’s hair, using it to help drag her back to her feet. He cocks back his arm once more, obviously intent on burying his knuckles into Roxxxie’s face once more but Pooler manages to reach out, locking Bates’ arm with his own and ceasing the momentum. Bates drops Roxxxie and finds himself grabbed from behind by some of the other bystanders. Two grab hold of his arms, but he’s putting up no fight. Instead he just looks at Pooler, loathing in eyes as Pooler steps forward and grabbing hold of Bates’ upper arm and getting inches from his face.
“Hey Champ, how’s about you pick on somebody your own size? I think you’ll have a harder time slapping me around.” Bob said he lets go of Bates’ arm as some security officers arrive on the scene.
As Bates is dragged away by security, Pooler extends his hand down to the sitting Roxxxie. Her face is red and a bit swollen from the stiff shot she took but Pooler’s sure that she was more shocked than injured. Roxxxie was one tough little son of a gun, a far cry from the other princesses running around.
They exchanged pleasantries, Pooler offering to escort her to the ‘in house’ medical center, before parting ways. As he walked away Pooler couldn’t help but feel that pang of anger subsiding and a rising feeling of elation. Bates was close to breaking; the small fissures in his psyche had seemingly already begun to spiderweb outward. Tonight was just an example of what could happen as those cracks continued to grow. All he’d need was the proper … motivation … and there’d be no turning back; Kristoff Liam Bates would, for lack of a better phrase, be shattered. This thought excited Pooler as he gripped the handle to his locker room door and pushed it inward. He even let himself have a moment, just before entering the room, to smile and mutter,
”I’ve got you now Batesy.”
________________________________________
“Name calling and petty judgments Liam? Is this really what we've evolved into? I can't say I blame you for your anger and resentment; but you and I both know that at this point you're grasping at straws. You and I have done this dance week after week for some time now and I feel like I'm just saying the same **** over and over again. If there's one thing in this world that drives me bat**** crazy it's repeating myself. Time and time again I've sat here and broke you down and shone the light on your fractured psyche. Time and time again I've wasted precious breath trying to find the reason behind your actions and thought processes.
Yeah, I'm done with that.
I'm sick of seeing your bi-polar face on television whining about that belt and how meaningless it is one minute and cutting me down the next for being everything that you wish you had the balls to be. Somewhere along the way you've lost your edge Batesy. You're constantly running off at the mouth and reminising about the 'good ol' days' when you were one of the most hardcore SOB's in the company. But now ... something's different; almost like the fire in your eye is out. It's almost pathetic, really, watching you try and recapture that emotion again. Wrapping your hands in barbed wire and toting around your little briefcase full of 'Office Supplies of Doom', it's sad Batesy. I feel like I'm watching a child play dressup more than a man speaking from the heart. I don't know if this little change in character has been something slowly building since your return and I don't care.
I've wasted so much time on you in recent weeks that may have made for great television, but its given me nothing in return. I feel no sense of accomplishment, no sense that I've gained anything or grown in any way. Our little tete a tete has managed to shine a light on just how low you're willing to stoop. Attacking an unsuspecting woman, drinking yourself to an early grave, training in gyms with a better chance of giving you Hep C than anything else, and forcing us to listen to promo after promo of your stupid, ****ing, emo thoughts; thanks for the little life lessons Batesy, don't hold it against me if I don't fir your definition of 'honorable'.
When you're done being a pretentious little prick do us all a favor and look in the mirror. Take a long hard look into the eyes of the broken man standing there and ask yourself if you honestly think you have what it takes to take me on, one on one, and walk away with the victory. In your prime you may have stood a chance, but look at you ... you're a pathetic, angry little man trying to prove something to a company and fans who could care less.
Big fish, little fish, ponds, creeks, oceans ... it doesn't matter what analogy you choose, in the end it doesn't matter. When I joined here I was just another of 'Boone's Boys' and trying to shake that stigma. Everywhere I've ever worked I've had to start at the bottom, but in each and every company I've ended up at the top of the food chain. I'm a multi-company champion and Hall of Famer and you want to know the best part?
It means nothing.
I'd give it all up, everything I've ever accomplished since I started playing this game years ago, to sit at the top of the nCw mountain. Honor Champion, Tag Team Champion, National Champion, X Champion ... all prestigious and titles worthy of my holding; but like every other man standing in these locker rooms there is only one title that I long to hold high; the World title. Don't think I'm looking past you or your title, it will be my pleasure to stand above you holding that title up. You've done everything you could to get rid of that title short of throwing matches and this Sunday you won't have to worry about it any longer.
Keep rubbing that crystal ball of yours and trying to guess what it is that I'm going to say. Trying to keep me on my toes is futile at best but if it helps you sleep at night thinking that you've shaken me and gotten into my head then sleep well. I hate to repeat myself and I've said everything I'll be bothered to say about you. Anything else you want to know will just have to wait until Sunday in that ring Bates. I wish you the best of luck this weekend, and that may be the last bit of pleasentry you see from me until after the three count.
Time to let the chips fall where they may, but this is my time to shine and show that I can be Picture Pefect; after all, I'm Bob Pooler ...
what will I do next?"
________________________________________
He had no problem with the Locke’s winning last weekend. In fact, if anything, it had been a good boost for those boys.
With hands in his pockets, his face still somewhat aching from the punches and his entire front-side still stinging from his mid match altercation with his erstwhile partner Kristoff Liam Bates. He’d felt the sting of CPU Trouble, a move he had yet to receive before last week and now was hoping to not encounter again, Pooler walked along actually feeling quite proud of himself. He had held his own for longer than a lot of people would have against two massive opponents and one pissed off nerd. Not only had he, single handedly, given them a good run for their money, but he wasn't dead or seriously injured thanks to Bates’ continually increasing insanity. It may very well have been a possible match of the night … well, if the stupid production truck hadn’t screwed up and lost the camera feed. How is it possible that their entire match was missed by everyone not sitting in their seats that night? Ridiculous, that’s bush league right there.
But, there were other things on the future Honor champion's mind at this particular time, and they were definitely focused on the past, or at least, the recent past. Bates had officially lost his **** and now it was time to swoop in and take the title that he’s repeatedly said he doesn’t want.
Now, Pooler wasn't normally the type to get ahead of himself and make promises he might not be able to keep but he felt, after all the fighting, all the verbal back and forth they had done over the last few weeks, when push came to shove ... Bates was his!
He looked at the various store windows lining the indoor shopping center's semi-cramped hallways, although it was rather uncrowded on this warm Friday afternoon, Pooler plods along at an easy pace. Many different sights greeted him at the glass of those windows, sights you definitely wouldn't see in most normal American markets. There were many reasons why you wouldn't see them most other places, but the main reason happened to be because he WASN'T in a normal American market; this was the far-throw from a US strip-mall … this was Chinatown. Boston, MA was known for having one of the most extravagant Chinese town centers. With signs overhead depicted in Mandarin or sometimes just pictures with big bubble lettering, sometimes in more traditional looking brush-strokes, each window brandished a different aspect of culture. Sometimes it was big, cute, simplized cartoon faces, other times it was very old-world Asian flare, particularly the restaurants, oddly enough, although there was, once in a great while, a store brandishing antiques or other apparel of actual historic Chinese value. Most of it though was what you would expect; pure bubble-gum pop culture.
Now, while he really should have been training, Pooler had decided to grant himself this daytrip. Perhaps he’d be able to visit a local acupuncturist, tea house or something of the like; but in reality, he was here to stock up on all the anime, manga, and most importantly, pocky, gummis, sugar-lollipops, super tart liquid-filled marbles, chocolate-filled mini cookies, exploding soda pop, and pinwheel candies he could humanly carry.
In fact, taking notice of a particularly pastel little shop loudly displaying the fact candy and other cutesy items were inside, Pooler realizes he has yet to purchase a single tooth-decaying substance today. Shrugging, grinning slightly, he spins easily on the heel of his Converse and walks inside. The girl of clear Asian descent - although if it was Chinese, Japanese, Korean or otherwise was always hard to tell, despite the fact it was Chinatown, not everyone working there was of that nationality - sitting behind the counter was boredly jabbering away on a phone, occasionally admiring her nails. Seeing a cute little Asian girl always reminded Pooler of days past in high school, when he used to act as the guy who would jump fences to retrieve tennis balls for the girl's tennis team if they hit them way out of court. Almost all of the short-skirted young ladies were foreign exchange students from Japan or China, and the fact they knew limited English played great to a young Bob Pooler's advantage. They had no idea how annoying or stupid he was, and simply loved him to death for fetching the ball. Life was good being a teenage puppy.
For a few moments, casually strolling about, Pooler observes some of the other less interesting aspects of the store; key-chains, stationary, stuffed animals ... but toward the back, his intended destination was clear.
Candy. Boxes of it. Hordes of it. Sweet, inexpensive, foreign candy, all his for the picking, if he had the money!
This would be sweet ... no pun intend -- ah hell, ok, whatever! Pun intended!
Now granted, there were many great things about Asia. Pooler was actually quite fond of the cultures, at least, what he knew of them. But he was pretty sure he couldn't like anything more than the candies... er... well, except maybe for Cowboy Bebop. He was awfully fond of Cowboy Bebop. Nonetheless, he packed away boxes and bags of the sweets like there was no tomorrow, gleefully side-stepping along in front of the shelves, occasionally doing a spin to grab something behind him with a near-giddy flourish. However, even Pooler can only hold so many packages of sugary substances, and while trying to reach up to one of the higher shelves, one of the cylindrical containers holding a couple suckers falls from the pile of junk food in his arms, gently thumping against the floor and rolling away...
...right under a curtain hung to cover a doorway.
Pausing in his attempts to grab the box, looking over to the floor with wide but calm eyes as the cylinder rolls out of sight, the curtain only slightly miffed by its passing, Pooler grins a little, a twinge of mischief to it.
”Oh-ho ... think ya can get away from me, huh?”
Still with an armful of sweet sustenance, Pooler traipses after the lost suckers, sweeping the curtain aside and not even realizing the creepy surroundings he's just walked into... Incense thickly filled the air around him. Completely opposite of the bright, friendly pastels in the main room, this back area was dark, somewhat musty, and had not a single cutesy toy, candy or other keep-sake to speak of. Leaning down to pick up the cylinder of suckers, hardly noticing, it isn't until a deep, heavily-accented voice croaks up that Pooler's attention wavers, as he snaps his head up and widens his eyes at the speaker.
Old Man: Ni hoa, and g'reetinguh to you, my son ...
Pooler pauses, frowning a little, before becoming skeptical.
”...noooo, I don't have any Japanese in me... I'm not your son ... (frowns even deeper, considering it) Although mom never told me if ... (eyes widen... asks soulfully) Dad...?!”
Old Man: ...no... I... I nah you otou-sa—(pauses, clears throat) I nah you daddy... I use... as term of ol' man... talkeeng to young man...
”uhhh... (totally follows... ok no he doesn't) ...yeeaa... yea, I knew that”.
Old Man: (moving on) My son... you have good heart... with happy feeling... ALL of the time! (pauses.. states blandly) Actuarry... I lie... MOST of time. (goes into a coughing fit)
”Er... gesundheit?”
Old Man: (clearing throat loudly) Xie xie, my son. For you good heart, I will give you very speciaru thing... You like candy, yes, my son?
Wherever this was going, it was getting creepy. Taking a small step toward the curtain, certainly not wanting this old man to get... questionable... on him, Pooler raises one eyebrow.
”Uh, thanks for the compliments and all, but I better go...”
Old Man: No, wait! You... (concentrates.. then speaks in a high drone) I see a teki you have in your life!
Pooler immediately checks his fly, frantic, but realizes that is in fact fully zipped. Letting out a sigh of relief, he then has to question exactly what this guy means if a teki isn't, well, you know.
”Uh, excuse me, a what?”
Old Man: Ah yes... he believe in way.. of koritsu!
”Um... well there sure are a lot of crates around backstage, but—
Old Man: You very very stupid. (laughing somewhat) But I like you! Here, come, take gift... here you go...
Slowly, the man holds up a seude bag, tied with a small piece of twine. A kanji mark has been burned into the bag's side, a blackened brand not even an eighth of an inch deep. Rattling a bit, it is clear there is something in a multitude inside of it.
Old Man: This candy... it give you dreams! (waving one hand about inspired-like) Dreams that give you... MEANING OF LIFE!
There is a short pause. Pooler, quirking a brow high up, shifts his weight loosely to the other foot.
"I guess that's ok, but I really don't wanna know. I kinda.. you know, I already have my ideas on that, actually...! But thanks, anyways!" (turns to leave, but stops as the man speaks again)
Old Man: Ah-haaaa! You very wise! A man must find his OWN meaning...! (clearly impressed) Haha! Ok, I offer you other candy... here...
Lowering that bag, he produces a second that is almost identical save for the kanji mark.
Old Man: This allow you to have dream that let you see into past and clear aaaaall mistake!
(making a face) "BOH-RING. Dude, I already know what happens in the past."
Old Man: That... also... very true! Uh... ah-ha! I give you ...
Another turn-down, another bag.
Old Man: This allow you have dream understand why women talk sooo funny! (rattles the bag enticingly) You be biggest raydee man to ever... uh... chase a raydee! Haha!
"Uhh.. I just have one ray-err, lady I'm after, and she talks pretty normal."
Old Man: ...ok. You want... dream that allow you to see truth into religion?
"Errr... no offense, if you worked where I worked, you wouldn't like religion too much..."
Old Man: ....dream that let you astral-project?
"Nah, I'm cool."
Old Man: Dream that let you take over other people dreams?
"Nah, thanks."
Old Man: Dream that let you judge other people soul! Kuwarity of character!
"No, thanks anyways!"
The old man was clearly frustrated. He was trying to give Pooler a gift here! Dead-pan, somewhat annoyed, he raises up a final bag. This one is regular plastic, and has many little happy faces all over it with the words 'HAPPY HAPPY SUPER GO GO SUNSHINE SMILE DROPS!' in big lime green letters with little rounded strawberries, cherries and raspberries all over the place.
Now he has Pooler's attention.
Old Man: This candy give you dream that very WEIRD.
"Whoooaa... what kinda weird...?"
Old Man: (still dead-pan) Weird like... 'stumble into secret back room of candy store and find old man who offer you candy that can allow you many thing man cannot do but want to do and turn all down for stupid bag of candy that give you funny dream' weird.
(adamantly) I AM SOLD! Toss that bag over here, my man!
Muttering to himself, the man does just that, easily lobbing the bag to the cruiserweight champ, who quickly shifts the bulk of his candy crusade to one arm so he can catch it. Grinning broadly, he shows off one of the few things he's learned from too much anime.
Nǐ hǎo, old timer!
Spinning on his heel, Pooler prepares to depart as the old man stops his muttering to sigh, waving him on his way.
Old Man: Ai, ai, ai...
As Pooler steps back out to purchase all this hyper-active goodness in 'nourishment' form, he can't help but think how lucky he's been lately. Sure, he may have lost last weekend, but even that had ended up being lucky. It had been clearly shown that the two men meeting up this weekend could very well have been the greatest tag-team in recent company history ... possibly. They were untouchable, which was quite a testament. However, together they may be powerful, but as individuals Pooler refused to be the weaker of the two. A year ago he was standing at the top of another companies mountain. Now, here in nCw, he had to build himself up from the bottom. It's been slow and methodical but he's turned quite a few heads and this Sunday he'll do more than turn heads. He would love to think of the match as just a wrestling match; of course that was assuming that there was nothing personal. It would be nice to think that it was all for the sport, but that time has come and gone. It got personal along the way and this Sunday was going to be the end of it, one way or another. It wouldn't be the most honorable match he had had in his career, though under Honor stipulations.
Honor ... honor for the sport, honor for the company, honor for himself.
He liked the sound of that.
Testing the weight of the seude bag of candy in his hand, Pooler can't help but think his luck is only improving every day. It had been a long time since he had been looking forward to tomorrow with such openness... and he was sort of feeling like himself again; himself before any of the fame, fortune, or most importantly, the friends. The best part was, he knew the fame and fortune wouldn't change him, and the friends would only better him. That was how it had always been with Pooler. As far as any future matches went, that was secondary to improving himself as a person, as strange as it sounded. Plus at this point, what did he have to worry about with matches? They'd be easy... Easy like taking candy from a baby.
Or in Pooler's case... like receiving candy from a crazy old guy in the back of a Chinatown sweets store.
Nietzsche
Flashback
July 16, 2011
XL Center
Hartford, Connecticut
The screams of the fans cheering on the main event resonate backstage as Pooler leans against a wall basking in the glow of a well earned victory. He and Alysson had come out on top thanks, in part, to Bates’ obvious disregard for rules. Guess he should have known that clotheslining a defenseless woman while she’s not looking was grounds for an automatic disqualification; and he’s the Honor champion? Pfft … but, as Pooler continues to stand there thinking about getting one up on ol’ Bates a different sound catches his attention.
Arguing …
There’s nothing quite like watching two people fight; I mean really get into a verbal beat down on each other. It’s not that weird uncomfortable feeling you get when you have to sit and watch mom and dad fighting at the dinner table; no … this kind of fighting is so much better. Pooler isn’t the only person backstage to take notice of the verbal altercation happening either. The tables of workers watching the Trauma video feed find their attention pulled to where Roxxxie and Kristoff Liam Bates stand. Roxxxie is visibly livid; her face is bright red and venom drips from every syllable she speaks.
He can’t hear what she’s saying at first but as he makes his way over to further enjoy the scene he notices her poking Bates in the chest with her finger.
“Oh, this is going to be great!” he muttered to himself as he began making his way through the small crowd that had begun to circle around the pair.
What happened next was almost to unbelievable to even comprehend; one second Roxxxie is tearing Bates up and down and putting the big goof in his place, the next …
the next he hears the phrase, ‘or what?’ before seeing Bates haul back with a fist clenched in anger and swing it forward, driving it straight into the left cheek of Roxxxie and sending her down to the ground. Pooler begins shoving people out of the way now, something in his head snapping and acting completely on instinct. Bates reaches down and grabs a fistful of Roxxxie’s hair, using it to help drag her back to her feet. He cocks back his arm once more, obviously intent on burying his knuckles into Roxxxie’s face once more but Pooler manages to reach out, locking Bates’ arm with his own and ceasing the momentum. Bates drops Roxxxie and finds himself grabbed from behind by some of the other bystanders. Two grab hold of his arms, but he’s putting up no fight. Instead he just looks at Pooler, loathing in eyes as Pooler steps forward and grabbing hold of Bates’ upper arm and getting inches from his face.
“Hey Champ, how’s about you pick on somebody your own size? I think you’ll have a harder time slapping me around.” Bob said he lets go of Bates’ arm as some security officers arrive on the scene.
As Bates is dragged away by security, Pooler extends his hand down to the sitting Roxxxie. Her face is red and a bit swollen from the stiff shot she took but Pooler’s sure that she was more shocked than injured. Roxxxie was one tough little son of a gun, a far cry from the other princesses running around.
They exchanged pleasantries, Pooler offering to escort her to the ‘in house’ medical center, before parting ways. As he walked away Pooler couldn’t help but feel that pang of anger subsiding and a rising feeling of elation. Bates was close to breaking; the small fissures in his psyche had seemingly already begun to spiderweb outward. Tonight was just an example of what could happen as those cracks continued to grow. All he’d need was the proper … motivation … and there’d be no turning back; Kristoff Liam Bates would, for lack of a better phrase, be shattered. This thought excited Pooler as he gripped the handle to his locker room door and pushed it inward. He even let himself have a moment, just before entering the room, to smile and mutter,
”I’ve got you now Batesy.”
________________________________________
“Name calling and petty judgments Liam? Is this really what we've evolved into? I can't say I blame you for your anger and resentment; but you and I both know that at this point you're grasping at straws. You and I have done this dance week after week for some time now and I feel like I'm just saying the same **** over and over again. If there's one thing in this world that drives me bat**** crazy it's repeating myself. Time and time again I've sat here and broke you down and shone the light on your fractured psyche. Time and time again I've wasted precious breath trying to find the reason behind your actions and thought processes.
Yeah, I'm done with that.
I'm sick of seeing your bi-polar face on television whining about that belt and how meaningless it is one minute and cutting me down the next for being everything that you wish you had the balls to be. Somewhere along the way you've lost your edge Batesy. You're constantly running off at the mouth and reminising about the 'good ol' days' when you were one of the most hardcore SOB's in the company. But now ... something's different; almost like the fire in your eye is out. It's almost pathetic, really, watching you try and recapture that emotion again. Wrapping your hands in barbed wire and toting around your little briefcase full of 'Office Supplies of Doom', it's sad Batesy. I feel like I'm watching a child play dressup more than a man speaking from the heart. I don't know if this little change in character has been something slowly building since your return and I don't care.
I've wasted so much time on you in recent weeks that may have made for great television, but its given me nothing in return. I feel no sense of accomplishment, no sense that I've gained anything or grown in any way. Our little tete a tete has managed to shine a light on just how low you're willing to stoop. Attacking an unsuspecting woman, drinking yourself to an early grave, training in gyms with a better chance of giving you Hep C than anything else, and forcing us to listen to promo after promo of your stupid, ****ing, emo thoughts; thanks for the little life lessons Batesy, don't hold it against me if I don't fir your definition of 'honorable'.
When you're done being a pretentious little prick do us all a favor and look in the mirror. Take a long hard look into the eyes of the broken man standing there and ask yourself if you honestly think you have what it takes to take me on, one on one, and walk away with the victory. In your prime you may have stood a chance, but look at you ... you're a pathetic, angry little man trying to prove something to a company and fans who could care less.
Big fish, little fish, ponds, creeks, oceans ... it doesn't matter what analogy you choose, in the end it doesn't matter. When I joined here I was just another of 'Boone's Boys' and trying to shake that stigma. Everywhere I've ever worked I've had to start at the bottom, but in each and every company I've ended up at the top of the food chain. I'm a multi-company champion and Hall of Famer and you want to know the best part?
It means nothing.
I'd give it all up, everything I've ever accomplished since I started playing this game years ago, to sit at the top of the nCw mountain. Honor Champion, Tag Team Champion, National Champion, X Champion ... all prestigious and titles worthy of my holding; but like every other man standing in these locker rooms there is only one title that I long to hold high; the World title. Don't think I'm looking past you or your title, it will be my pleasure to stand above you holding that title up. You've done everything you could to get rid of that title short of throwing matches and this Sunday you won't have to worry about it any longer.
Keep rubbing that crystal ball of yours and trying to guess what it is that I'm going to say. Trying to keep me on my toes is futile at best but if it helps you sleep at night thinking that you've shaken me and gotten into my head then sleep well. I hate to repeat myself and I've said everything I'll be bothered to say about you. Anything else you want to know will just have to wait until Sunday in that ring Bates. I wish you the best of luck this weekend, and that may be the last bit of pleasentry you see from me until after the three count.
Time to let the chips fall where they may, but this is my time to shine and show that I can be Picture Pefect; after all, I'm Bob Pooler ...
what will I do next?"
________________________________________
He had no problem with the Locke’s winning last weekend. In fact, if anything, it had been a good boost for those boys.
With hands in his pockets, his face still somewhat aching from the punches and his entire front-side still stinging from his mid match altercation with his erstwhile partner Kristoff Liam Bates. He’d felt the sting of CPU Trouble, a move he had yet to receive before last week and now was hoping to not encounter again, Pooler walked along actually feeling quite proud of himself. He had held his own for longer than a lot of people would have against two massive opponents and one pissed off nerd. Not only had he, single handedly, given them a good run for their money, but he wasn't dead or seriously injured thanks to Bates’ continually increasing insanity. It may very well have been a possible match of the night … well, if the stupid production truck hadn’t screwed up and lost the camera feed. How is it possible that their entire match was missed by everyone not sitting in their seats that night? Ridiculous, that’s bush league right there.
But, there were other things on the future Honor champion's mind at this particular time, and they were definitely focused on the past, or at least, the recent past. Bates had officially lost his **** and now it was time to swoop in and take the title that he’s repeatedly said he doesn’t want.
Now, Pooler wasn't normally the type to get ahead of himself and make promises he might not be able to keep but he felt, after all the fighting, all the verbal back and forth they had done over the last few weeks, when push came to shove ... Bates was his!
He looked at the various store windows lining the indoor shopping center's semi-cramped hallways, although it was rather uncrowded on this warm Friday afternoon, Pooler plods along at an easy pace. Many different sights greeted him at the glass of those windows, sights you definitely wouldn't see in most normal American markets. There were many reasons why you wouldn't see them most other places, but the main reason happened to be because he WASN'T in a normal American market; this was the far-throw from a US strip-mall … this was Chinatown. Boston, MA was known for having one of the most extravagant Chinese town centers. With signs overhead depicted in Mandarin or sometimes just pictures with big bubble lettering, sometimes in more traditional looking brush-strokes, each window brandished a different aspect of culture. Sometimes it was big, cute, simplized cartoon faces, other times it was very old-world Asian flare, particularly the restaurants, oddly enough, although there was, once in a great while, a store brandishing antiques or other apparel of actual historic Chinese value. Most of it though was what you would expect; pure bubble-gum pop culture.
Now, while he really should have been training, Pooler had decided to grant himself this daytrip. Perhaps he’d be able to visit a local acupuncturist, tea house or something of the like; but in reality, he was here to stock up on all the anime, manga, and most importantly, pocky, gummis, sugar-lollipops, super tart liquid-filled marbles, chocolate-filled mini cookies, exploding soda pop, and pinwheel candies he could humanly carry.
In fact, taking notice of a particularly pastel little shop loudly displaying the fact candy and other cutesy items were inside, Pooler realizes he has yet to purchase a single tooth-decaying substance today. Shrugging, grinning slightly, he spins easily on the heel of his Converse and walks inside. The girl of clear Asian descent - although if it was Chinese, Japanese, Korean or otherwise was always hard to tell, despite the fact it was Chinatown, not everyone working there was of that nationality - sitting behind the counter was boredly jabbering away on a phone, occasionally admiring her nails. Seeing a cute little Asian girl always reminded Pooler of days past in high school, when he used to act as the guy who would jump fences to retrieve tennis balls for the girl's tennis team if they hit them way out of court. Almost all of the short-skirted young ladies were foreign exchange students from Japan or China, and the fact they knew limited English played great to a young Bob Pooler's advantage. They had no idea how annoying or stupid he was, and simply loved him to death for fetching the ball. Life was good being a teenage puppy.
For a few moments, casually strolling about, Pooler observes some of the other less interesting aspects of the store; key-chains, stationary, stuffed animals ... but toward the back, his intended destination was clear.
Candy. Boxes of it. Hordes of it. Sweet, inexpensive, foreign candy, all his for the picking, if he had the money!
This would be sweet ... no pun intend -- ah hell, ok, whatever! Pun intended!
Now granted, there were many great things about Asia. Pooler was actually quite fond of the cultures, at least, what he knew of them. But he was pretty sure he couldn't like anything more than the candies... er... well, except maybe for Cowboy Bebop. He was awfully fond of Cowboy Bebop. Nonetheless, he packed away boxes and bags of the sweets like there was no tomorrow, gleefully side-stepping along in front of the shelves, occasionally doing a spin to grab something behind him with a near-giddy flourish. However, even Pooler can only hold so many packages of sugary substances, and while trying to reach up to one of the higher shelves, one of the cylindrical containers holding a couple suckers falls from the pile of junk food in his arms, gently thumping against the floor and rolling away...
...right under a curtain hung to cover a doorway.
Pausing in his attempts to grab the box, looking over to the floor with wide but calm eyes as the cylinder rolls out of sight, the curtain only slightly miffed by its passing, Pooler grins a little, a twinge of mischief to it.
”Oh-ho ... think ya can get away from me, huh?”
Still with an armful of sweet sustenance, Pooler traipses after the lost suckers, sweeping the curtain aside and not even realizing the creepy surroundings he's just walked into... Incense thickly filled the air around him. Completely opposite of the bright, friendly pastels in the main room, this back area was dark, somewhat musty, and had not a single cutesy toy, candy or other keep-sake to speak of. Leaning down to pick up the cylinder of suckers, hardly noticing, it isn't until a deep, heavily-accented voice croaks up that Pooler's attention wavers, as he snaps his head up and widens his eyes at the speaker.
Old Man: Ni hoa, and g'reetinguh to you, my son ...
Pooler pauses, frowning a little, before becoming skeptical.
”...noooo, I don't have any Japanese in me... I'm not your son ... (frowns even deeper, considering it) Although mom never told me if ... (eyes widen... asks soulfully) Dad...?!”
Old Man: ...no... I... I nah you otou-sa—(pauses, clears throat) I nah you daddy... I use... as term of ol' man... talkeeng to young man...
”uhhh... (totally follows... ok no he doesn't) ...yeeaa... yea, I knew that”.
Old Man: (moving on) My son... you have good heart... with happy feeling... ALL of the time! (pauses.. states blandly) Actuarry... I lie... MOST of time. (goes into a coughing fit)
”Er... gesundheit?”
Old Man: (clearing throat loudly) Xie xie, my son. For you good heart, I will give you very speciaru thing... You like candy, yes, my son?
Wherever this was going, it was getting creepy. Taking a small step toward the curtain, certainly not wanting this old man to get... questionable... on him, Pooler raises one eyebrow.
”Uh, thanks for the compliments and all, but I better go...”
Old Man: No, wait! You... (concentrates.. then speaks in a high drone) I see a teki you have in your life!
Pooler immediately checks his fly, frantic, but realizes that is in fact fully zipped. Letting out a sigh of relief, he then has to question exactly what this guy means if a teki isn't, well, you know.
”Uh, excuse me, a what?”
Old Man: Ah yes... he believe in way.. of koritsu!
”Um... well there sure are a lot of crates around backstage, but—
Old Man: You very very stupid. (laughing somewhat) But I like you! Here, come, take gift... here you go...
Slowly, the man holds up a seude bag, tied with a small piece of twine. A kanji mark has been burned into the bag's side, a blackened brand not even an eighth of an inch deep. Rattling a bit, it is clear there is something in a multitude inside of it.
Old Man: This candy... it give you dreams! (waving one hand about inspired-like) Dreams that give you... MEANING OF LIFE!
There is a short pause. Pooler, quirking a brow high up, shifts his weight loosely to the other foot.
"I guess that's ok, but I really don't wanna know. I kinda.. you know, I already have my ideas on that, actually...! But thanks, anyways!" (turns to leave, but stops as the man speaks again)
Old Man: Ah-haaaa! You very wise! A man must find his OWN meaning...! (clearly impressed) Haha! Ok, I offer you other candy... here...
Lowering that bag, he produces a second that is almost identical save for the kanji mark.
Old Man: This allow you to have dream that let you see into past and clear aaaaall mistake!
(making a face) "BOH-RING. Dude, I already know what happens in the past."
Old Man: That... also... very true! Uh... ah-ha! I give you ...
Another turn-down, another bag.
Old Man: This allow you have dream understand why women talk sooo funny! (rattles the bag enticingly) You be biggest raydee man to ever... uh... chase a raydee! Haha!
"Uhh.. I just have one ray-err, lady I'm after, and she talks pretty normal."
Old Man: ...ok. You want... dream that allow you to see truth into religion?
"Errr... no offense, if you worked where I worked, you wouldn't like religion too much..."
Old Man: ....dream that let you astral-project?
"Nah, I'm cool."
Old Man: Dream that let you take over other people dreams?
"Nah, thanks."
Old Man: Dream that let you judge other people soul! Kuwarity of character!
"No, thanks anyways!"
The old man was clearly frustrated. He was trying to give Pooler a gift here! Dead-pan, somewhat annoyed, he raises up a final bag. This one is regular plastic, and has many little happy faces all over it with the words 'HAPPY HAPPY SUPER GO GO SUNSHINE SMILE DROPS!' in big lime green letters with little rounded strawberries, cherries and raspberries all over the place.
Now he has Pooler's attention.
Old Man: This candy give you dream that very WEIRD.
"Whoooaa... what kinda weird...?"
Old Man: (still dead-pan) Weird like... 'stumble into secret back room of candy store and find old man who offer you candy that can allow you many thing man cannot do but want to do and turn all down for stupid bag of candy that give you funny dream' weird.
(adamantly) I AM SOLD! Toss that bag over here, my man!
Muttering to himself, the man does just that, easily lobbing the bag to the cruiserweight champ, who quickly shifts the bulk of his candy crusade to one arm so he can catch it. Grinning broadly, he shows off one of the few things he's learned from too much anime.
Nǐ hǎo, old timer!
Spinning on his heel, Pooler prepares to depart as the old man stops his muttering to sigh, waving him on his way.
Old Man: Ai, ai, ai...
As Pooler steps back out to purchase all this hyper-active goodness in 'nourishment' form, he can't help but think how lucky he's been lately. Sure, he may have lost last weekend, but even that had ended up being lucky. It had been clearly shown that the two men meeting up this weekend could very well have been the greatest tag-team in recent company history ... possibly. They were untouchable, which was quite a testament. However, together they may be powerful, but as individuals Pooler refused to be the weaker of the two. A year ago he was standing at the top of another companies mountain. Now, here in nCw, he had to build himself up from the bottom. It's been slow and methodical but he's turned quite a few heads and this Sunday he'll do more than turn heads. He would love to think of the match as just a wrestling match; of course that was assuming that there was nothing personal. It would be nice to think that it was all for the sport, but that time has come and gone. It got personal along the way and this Sunday was going to be the end of it, one way or another. It wouldn't be the most honorable match he had had in his career, though under Honor stipulations.
Honor ... honor for the sport, honor for the company, honor for himself.
He liked the sound of that.
Testing the weight of the seude bag of candy in his hand, Pooler can't help but think his luck is only improving every day. It had been a long time since he had been looking forward to tomorrow with such openness... and he was sort of feeling like himself again; himself before any of the fame, fortune, or most importantly, the friends. The best part was, he knew the fame and fortune wouldn't change him, and the friends would only better him. That was how it had always been with Pooler. As far as any future matches went, that was secondary to improving himself as a person, as strange as it sounded. Plus at this point, what did he have to worry about with matches? They'd be easy... Easy like taking candy from a baby.
Or in Pooler's case... like receiving candy from a crazy old guy in the back of a Chinatown sweets store.