Post by Kelson Hewitt on Mar 21, 2022 9:39:27 GMT -5
Standing in the rain, with his head hung low, stood Kelson Hewitt in front of a pub in Dublin, Ireland. There was no sold out show, there was no need for a ticket, as he searched the scene. This pub was dirty, dirtier than Hood’s commentary on an episode of Massacre, but inside would hold a wonderful retreat from the problems that had followed him. He stepped in the bar, and the room was low in population. A few drifters from out of town sat by themselves, while a few locals sat by, murmuring in low tones about their daily lives. As Kelson walked in with a somber walk, few eyed him directly, yet the conversation focused on him. As he made his way to the bar, he sat himself down on one of the stools, tapping the bar. The bartender, who was a big, red headed, nasty looking bastard, looked at him with a scowl.
“Oi’, no more of ‘ya O-Cee-Dubya shits in my bar.”
Kelson didn’t lose his stare, failing to be intimidated.
“Why’s that?”
“Bad drunks, all of ‘ya. ‘Specially the bald one that ran through here tryin’ to sell razors.”
An appearance from B.A.L.D. was enough to outlaw any OCW affiliated wrestlers from any building. He must’ve offended everyone, something awful too. Kelson shook his head.
“I’m independent. You won’t have any trouble from me.”
The bartender scoffed, yet after a moment, sighed.
“What’ll you be havin’?”
“Rum and coke.”
The bartender’s nostrils sneered.
“We got Pepsi, you basic fuck.”
Kelson rolled his eyes, nodding that he’ll take what he can get. In a swift movement, the bartender rolled out the rum and pepsi, mixing them together in a glass until it barely reached the top, before sliding it to The Man Of Steel.
“I appreciate it.”
“Don’t. You cause any trouble, and I’ll be sure to make sure you ain’t gettin’ to that fuckin’ wrestlin’ show. You can tell your company I don’t appreciate my homeland bein’ made fun of.”
The bartender walked away, tending to cleaning the other side of this long bar. Kelson’s eyes focused elsewhere, down at his drink. The glass hadn’t been cleaned in God knows how long, but the thirst was more unbearable than the sanitation guidelines for him. With a mighty swig, Kelson gulped down the drink, and felt the spice of the rum hit his throat. It’d been awhile, a long while since he’d drank. Some drink to forget, some drink to have a good time, but Kelson drank, to relax. To relax his mind of his troubles, and lately, times have been tough. Not only did he lose to Veronica Strader and Dylan Thomas back to back, but lost through underhanded tactics. While Dylan’s win is questionable, with no one even sure if the eye-poke was an accident or not, one thing is definite… that Kelson has found a new enemy. His words, his threat, they ring through his mind loud.
“And now the rest of you are either going to have to PROVE YOUR WORTH or…………….. End up UNWORTHY!”
PerZag. Another Hall Of Famer, a cornerstone in OCW, has targeted Kelson. He shouldn’t be surprised, it was only a matter of time before he met The Worthiest Of Them All. But that offer… the damn hand shake…
“...I should’ve taken it.”
Kelson could hear himself mutter it. Had he taken PerZag’s offer, had he joined in on the assault on Dylan Thomas, he wouldn’t be feeling the wrath of PerZag or the Draver Twins. He wouldn’t be here, soaking his wounds. Hell, he’d finally have allies to prevent the bullshit of two false wins. He’d finally be a part of a stable that would look out for him.
But, that’s not what a hero would do.
Kelson has run the gauntlet head first, he’s faced some of the best wrestlers in the world on his own merit, and has shown the world he’s here to stay. That moment of weakness, that moment of thinking he should’ve taken PerZag’s offer, it’s just that; weakness. It’s the exact kind of opportunity that separates heroes and villains. It was an easy way out, and it would have taken away the OCW Faithful’s one true hero. The promise to Bob Grenier, the promise to build up such a career that one day he would find someone as hungry as him at Bob’s age, it’s still one he wants to upkeep. Another drink in, and his mind would begin to soothe itself. Life is full of temptations, but as long as he’d stay on track, he’d be sure to overcome anything, even a man who claims himself to be WORTHY.
But why, you may ask, is Kelson here? At a pub? The fact is, it’s research. Research for what to look out for at Luck Of The Violent. Kelson turned his seat around, holding his drink in his hand as he saw a pool table. Perfect to slam someone into. A pool stick, painful, but effective for those quick shots. And lastly, the drink in his hand. The glass piercing some poor sucker’s skin, the burning alcohol in someone’s eyes, it’s dastardly.
It wasn’t the first crazy match type he’d been in. He survived an Elimination Chamber at the end of last year, but got screwed over. That seemed to be the theme, that no one could beat him without playing foul. He didn’t know if he should be impressed with himself for that, or pissed off. Pissed off that through it all, he’d be the one left off of pay-per-view cards. Pissed off that those who cheated, would get high profile matches. Veronica Strader, unscathed, unpunished. Dylan Thomas… in the same boat as Kelson… but PerZag? The Dravers? If they planned to make an appearance, it would be in a place that Kelson could exact his revenge on. Here, in a bar. No rules, no limits, just good old fashioned fighting. The opportunity to challenge for the Savage Championship eluded him, but the opportunity to show he was still a force to be reckoned with by winning a Bar Room Brawl Battle royal? That was magical. It was to die for even.
***CRASH***
The sound of wood being smashed could be heard as some poor fuck fell back in his seat, as his back hit against the dirty floor with a loud thud. He groaned, but no one pitied him. The only attention he got was the unwanted kind, as the bartender who had a few choice words with Kelson stepped out of the bar and walked over. The poor bastard below him, looked up, his eyes glazed over, as he slowly stood up. He nearly fell, but the bartender would make sure he had a mighty fall as he GOOZLED him by the throat!
“‘NUFF! Tired of shit gettin’ broke!”
The Bartender would contradict himself, because as Kelson turned his head too see what was happening, the drunk was lifted nearly seven feet in the air before coming down hard through the table.
“A drink and a show?”
Kelson scoffed a soft chuckle, as the drunk’s friend, who weighed nearly three times the size of The Bartender, hobbled over to deliver some chunky looking left hooks. Each one connected, but a solid boot to the face would back him up, before a clobbering jab broke his nose, causing the fat boy to squeal like a pig and hold his bloody nose.
This was homework. The kinda thing Kelson needed to watch out for come Luck Of The Violent. God knows who would be in it… jobbers… veterans… CYPHER, if he ever decides to show up one of these days... maybe a few returning stars… the possibilities were endless in this type of match, especially in this type of company. As the bar became unglued, with every redheaded drunk getting up and attempting to fight The Bartender, only to then begin fighting amongst themselves, the thought occurred to Kelson that he’d been through worse. While OCW has been the most grueling, challenging promotion he’s competed for, he’s faced worse opposition. He’s been beaten, screwed over, and mocked by everyone that was in his way, but overcame them. Those were tough times, those were the days that made Kelson question his career choice, but toughing it out… becoming a better competitor with each match… it’s worth it. A Bar Room Brawl is nothing compared to the Hell Kelson puts himself through trying to be a hero in an evil world, and come the 27th, not only does he hope to break his losing streak, but to come out with a shot at The Savage Championship… to become The Man Of Gold!
