Post by A Ghost Now on Jul 30, 2016 22:24:44 GMT -6
“Is that right, Ruby? I should… emulate a winner? You’re not very good at your jokes, are you?”
The stream was black until now for those watching. The melodies of electric swing started to fade off into the background before Max’s voice broke the silence. The picture faded in. There was no game at the ready for his stream this time. Instead, just his face. His eyes stared daggers into the camera; into the viewers.
“Let’s go back for a moment. Breakthrough Forty-Eight. I lost. Again. Go figure. The trolls win another round! Drinks are on my dainty ass.” He rolled his eyes for a moment before beginning again. “But… Axel had a point. I’m… getting there. My fingers are finally starting to caress the first rung on that ladder to the Brass. I’m going to get there, one way or a-fucking-nother. Got that!?”
He took a quiet breath to calm himself down. “Management gave me another shot, in more ways than one. A last chance to make something out of myself at Breakthrough Forty-Nine. The final shot at the Quest for a Case. Myself against three other people. Let’s break it down.
“First off. Every single person in this match has already failed to grab the rung before, and fell to someone else along the way. I fell to Joanna. Tristan fell to Datura. Craig fell to Gwendolyn. Patrick fell to Katalina. The only one who failed to get a second chance was Katie, but let’s be honest guys, she’s getting a title rematch at Heatstroke. She doesn’t need a briefcase to get a championship match. She already has one! But let’s not get off topic.
“Tristan Ambrose. You’ve seemed… distracted as of late. Not always there. Man-to-man, are you doing okay buddy? Maybe you should take a day off. Recharge your batteries. Now, I’m not saying that in any sort of arrogance, no-no-no. You not being in this match isn’t going to increase my chances of winning. Anyone who tells me I have a twenty-five percent chance of winning this is a full. Wrestling isn’t about luck, it’s about know-how and all-around skill. So! Take a breather or show up less than perfect if you’d like. You don’t seem like the quitting type. No one here does. So, either way, see you soon.
“Craig Anderson! You’ve had more luck than I have. At least you won your first match. Though… you and I haven’t had the best of luck as of late, have we? Good to see you again though since Fate of the Gods! Who knows. Maybe this time around, we’ll have a good match with each other. Someone’s got to kick their losing streak. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s me? But, I mean. There’s still two other people in this match. One of which, I’ve already spoken about. Which leaves...
“Patty-Cakes! Notice me! Nah, I’m kidding. But, hey. At least you’ve seemed to bounce back from our last match with Datura. You’ve got SOME momentum behind you, buddy. Maybe not too much what with you ALSO failing to grab a place at Heatstroke, but it’s some. It is enough? Who knows. That last match of ours was pretty down to the wire, I’d say. You Zoned-Out Datura. She wrecked us both. Good times… Let’s do it again!
“We’ve all got something to prove with this match, guys. But, I’m going to outline right now why I need this match. I need vindication. Two people in the Quest for the Case match have defeated me. Datura and Joanna Thade. I want my chance at them again. They’ve both taken my skills for granted. Which, who knows, maybe they are right. Datura stole her victory twice. Joanna was but a SLIVER better than me at Forty-Eight. I’m not going to sit with those quietly. Especially with Datura. Tristian, you were removed from our match last I checked so you wouldn’t understand. But, Patrick, Craig. You understand my pain slightly, don’t you? You both were there. At Forty-Six and Fate of the Gods. I faced you both… with her. And twice, she ripped the carpet out from under me. I’ve got things to prove. And to prove those things, obviously, I have to get past the two people I couldn’t defeat myself in the first place… and Tristan. So, you’re all on notice now. I’m not going to disgrace my legacy in this company with another pre-show match if I can damn well help it. Even if I should fall at Quest for a Case, goddamn if I’m not going to get my shot!”
Max needed a break after that final spiel. He took a generic plastic bottle of water from the side, cracked the plastic seal, and chugged a good half of it down. After another sigh to regain his thoughts and breath, he looked to the camera with a tired stare.
“Because a losing streak isn’t fun for anyone. So. We come full circle again. Ruby, remember your words when Joanna beat me? “I should emulate a winner,” right? Well… before Breakthrough Forty-Nine… I’m going to prove to you that I can be just that.
“A winner.”
---
It was a couple of days removed from Breakthrough Forty-Eight at this point. Max was happily seated in the back of a plane towards Breakthrough Forty-Nine’s location in Morgantown, West Virginia.
… And not a single idea came to mind since his stream day.
Luckily, his flight had internet, so he started to browse literally any sort of competition going on in the city.
… There was absolutely nothing going on.
Why in the hell are we even going to such a small state like West Virginia. Sure, there’s some things to do here, but for fuck’s sake, the first result of my search was a goddamn LUMBERJACK competition! I should have just swallowed my words about this idea.
He sulked back deep into his chair before looking out the window. Unlucky for him, despite buying the tickets pre-emptively in hopes he would have a free aisle, the two seats next to him were filled. At least they were quiet sleepers. A couple cuddled up against one another. How sweet.
Still prevents him from using this bathroom on this short flight over.
Why the fuck would you take a flight for an hour or so just to SLEEP?! Aaaah!
---
His bed in the Hilton Garden Inn welcomed him greatly. He wrapped himself up in the blankets and got himself in a comfortable position after the tedious flight. It was July 30th. The show was in five days, and Max was still without any plans of proving himself to being ‘a winner.’ He lingered in his room for a bit more, collecting his thoughts.
Maybe I should go pick a fight in a local bar. Metaphorically or, hell, why not literally. Beat someone in a drinking contest, then beat them up for real! … Yeah, no, that won’t work. Bad publicity.
Maybe there is some small indie federation around here! Though… maybe trying to get into another company might be a bad idea. I’m pretty sure VOW wouldn’t like me breaking their… non-compete ‘vow’. I crack myself up… but all the same, maybe trying to beat up upcoming talent is also a bad idea. Because either… I discourage them through a rather traumatizing defeat… or I throw myself into rapids if they get a win off of me.
I wonder what my opponents are even doing for this match. Maybe I should be hitting the gym a bit more. I’ve been lacking in that regard lately.
Though, have you seen this body? It doesn’t exactly scream ‘winner’ in the world of professional wrestling. I’m not going to suddenly powerlift five-hundred or something. Physically speaking, I’m probably one of the weakest people in the goddamn locker room. I’m just lucky to know how use momentum in my favor, as well as knowing where to kick. I’m pretty sure half the women of VOW could lift more than I do.
For fuck’s sake, I haven’t even won any competitive video games since Joanna whooped my ass. No shooters. No MOBAs. Nada. I can’t even claim I’m a winner with what I was best at before I got into this professional wrestling bullshit.
Y’know. Maybe this shit would be nicer and easier if I actually had a friend or partner in this company. Someone to, y’know, actually talk to instead of myself. Boyfriend is lingering in a hospital. Best frienemies still hate your guts probably. Wonder if Owen even still realizes you exist? Probably not, you haven’t really kept in contact with him since you left last time.
Maybe I should take up that bar idea… make a new friend. Yeah, fuck it. It’s not like you’re a world renowned superstar who fans would swoon for. Let’s have an impromptu meet-and-greet at a random bar! That ought to cheer me up.
Yeah… until no one knows who I am there.
Max lifted himself off the bed and moved into the bathroom. He checked himself out in the mirror for a moment.
Hair’s a mess. Baggy eyes. Saggy clothing. You look like a teenager who’s about ready to off himself, Max…
… Perfect, let’s go pick up some fans.
With a smile over his lips to his own self-destructive humor, he made his way out of his room and out of the hotel room. The closest place to the hotel was a quaint place called Pies and Pints. Rave reviews online as Max scrolled through their information. Sure enough, he walked along the road until he got there. He instantly sat himself at the bar and fished into his wallet. By the time the bartender came around, Max presented him with a twenty.
“I’d like an order of Pizza skins and the cheapest red wine you’ve got, please.”
“Oh, of course! But, you can wait til you’re done to pay if you’d like.” Mike, as denoted by his nametag, said while eyeing the twenty.
“Oh, that’s fine. This is your tip.” Max said simply as he stared the tall man dead in the eyes with a soft but serious tone. Mike was astonished for a moment before taking the offered bill.
“Well, now. What is the occasion? Did my wife put you up to this?” Mike seemed completely baffled by the sudden act of generosity.
“No. Just, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of bad customers. Trust me, I’ve been to enough places to know bartenders don’t get… the most respect. Also a video told me that if I gave my bartender a large tip, they’d give me amazing service for the whole night.” Max said simply before relaxing back in his chair.
“Well, now, I’m not entirely sure you’re supposed to repeat that second part to the person you’re trying to bribe, per se, for great service, but hell, I’ll bite! I’ll right on that for you.” Mike said before turning away with the order.
“Thanks.” Max said before turning in his seat to look around the place. The place was pretty active for a Saturday night. Most of the seats were packed. There was no television as it would seem, so people weren’t here for a game. With how the reviews were, they’re probably just here for a night out. Maybe some of them were wrestling fans here for VOW’s show this week! Who knows. Max could barely hear anyone individually.
Mike came back with a glass and Max’s appetizer rather quickly. Max turned his attention back to his bartender when he heard his plate and glass get placed on the bartop. He smiled up to Mike with a nod. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. Though, hey, I’ve seen you around, haven’t I? You’re… a wrestler, yeah?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Despite coming out with the intention of a mock meet-and-greet, Max wasn’t honestly expecting someone to know him in the city. The notion caught him off guard.
“Your name escapes me but I know of you, kid. You’re that bat-shit crazy kid who usually finds himself WAY over his head, right?”
“Hah… yeah, that sounds about right.” Max chuckled softly to himself before taking up his glass and swirling it around some. “Name’s Max, by the way. I assume you’re a fan then? Going to the show this week for Visionaries of Wrestling or have you just seen me elsewhere?”
“I follow a lot of promotions. I’ve seen your name around a couple of them, honestly. But, yes, I do plan on going to Breakthrough on my off-day! Do you have a match?”
“Yeah…” Max trailed off for a moment. “A couple of losers, including myself, facing off in a last chance match for a shot at a random championship match of our choosing.”
“Losers? Now, why would you call yourself that?” Mike asked quietly. He looked around the bar for a moment to see if there were any more customers in need but none spoke up. So, he offered his time to the wrestler.
“Well, because again. Everyone in this match has already failed a placement match. By definition, we lost and that makes us losers rolled together into a match where someone is going to be made into a winner.”
“Would you not call yourself a winner, Max?”
“Honestly, no one would call myself a winner right now.” Max took up one of the pizza skins and bit into it. “I haven’t won a match on my own in the longest of time…”
“You don’t seem defeated though.”
“Of course not. Just… a little tired and exhausted of disappointing fans, I guess.” Max sighed before finishing a slice of the pizza-like appetizer. His gaze was turned away by this point.
“Then I don’t believe you are a loser. Sure, you’re on a losing streak as you say, but that doesn’t exactly make you a loser.”
“Yeah? What does that make me then?”
“A winner who hasn’t had a firm chance to shine yet. Loser are people who give up completely and fall back into obscurity. You’re still fighting, aren’t you? Haven’t thrown in the towel? Haven’t retired? Then you’re not a loser. Not yet.”
Max’s attention was grabbed from that as he looked up at Mike with a curious stare before he let the bartender’s words soak in. “... I suppose you’ve got a point. Y’know. I paid for service, not a counsellor, Mike.”
“Bartenders function as both, basically.” Mike said with a smirk. “So, are you washed up yet?”
“No… I suppose not yet.” Max said before downing the rest of his wine. “I’m not out just yet! Hell, even if I lose this match, I’m still going to be out there kicking and screaming!”
“That’s the spirit! Here, want me to get you another glass?” Mike said before taking the empty glass from Max. Before Max could answer the question, a slight commotion stirred behind him. He turned around to see a group of young adults, probably about his age, looking for a fun night out. By the way one person was dressed, it looked to be a birthday celebration. Max looked from them back to Mike with a smirk.
“Actually… I’ve got a fun challenge. Mind letting me behind the counter for the night? You look like you might need some help tonight. I bet you another twenty against my tab that I can rack in more tips than you!”
“Is that a fact?” Mike said with crossed arms before looking at the group. With a shrug, Mike conceded. “Your bill is around seventeen dollars. Will be thirty-seven if you lose.”
“Deal! Let’s go!”
---
It was a long night for the two. The group of young adults continued to order drink after drink until every single member was shitfaced. Stack that on top of the the fact that everyone else in the restaurant wanted drinks as well and you have two very tired bartenders.
It was 10:27PM. The last customer was taking his leave.
“Have a nice day, thank you for dining with us!” Mike waved him off. Max collapsed against the counter with a heavy breath of relief.
“Jesus, I thought they’d never stop ordering drinks.” Max groaned against the counter before digging through his pockets to count up the tips he made.
“Welcome to Pies and Pints, Max. How much did you make?” Mike said before digging through his pockets for his own amount.
“I count… about thirty-seven!” Max said proudly. “Busy night to make just that in an hour… Shit, might be luck, but maybe I should take up bars again! Might be more lucrative than fucking wrestling. What about you?”
“Heh. You win. Barely. Thirty-five.” Mike said with a defeated sigh. Still, the bartender smiled to the wrestler. Max held his arms up in victory, almost as if he just won a championship in that bar.
“Hah! Suck a dick, Ruby, I can still win then!” Max said proudly before slamming his tip money right in-front of Mike. He hopped the bar and sprinted out of the restaurant triumphantly. One of the cooks came from the back and looked over at Mike for a moment. The thing that caught his eye instantly… was an extra five-dollar bill hidden in his hand behind his back.
“Sir?”
“Don’t mention it, Chris.” Mike said before sticking it with the pile. “The kid could use a pick-me-up and some confidence before his match. No need to talk it away from him. He made us all a good extra chunk of money anyway! Call it his reward.” Mike cleared his throat before calling out. “ALRIGHT, GUYS, WRAP IT UP AND LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!"
The stream was black until now for those watching. The melodies of electric swing started to fade off into the background before Max’s voice broke the silence. The picture faded in. There was no game at the ready for his stream this time. Instead, just his face. His eyes stared daggers into the camera; into the viewers.
“Let’s go back for a moment. Breakthrough Forty-Eight. I lost. Again. Go figure. The trolls win another round! Drinks are on my dainty ass.” He rolled his eyes for a moment before beginning again. “But… Axel had a point. I’m… getting there. My fingers are finally starting to caress the first rung on that ladder to the Brass. I’m going to get there, one way or a-fucking-nother. Got that!?”
He took a quiet breath to calm himself down. “Management gave me another shot, in more ways than one. A last chance to make something out of myself at Breakthrough Forty-Nine. The final shot at the Quest for a Case. Myself against three other people. Let’s break it down.
“First off. Every single person in this match has already failed to grab the rung before, and fell to someone else along the way. I fell to Joanna. Tristan fell to Datura. Craig fell to Gwendolyn. Patrick fell to Katalina. The only one who failed to get a second chance was Katie, but let’s be honest guys, she’s getting a title rematch at Heatstroke. She doesn’t need a briefcase to get a championship match. She already has one! But let’s not get off topic.
“Tristan Ambrose. You’ve seemed… distracted as of late. Not always there. Man-to-man, are you doing okay buddy? Maybe you should take a day off. Recharge your batteries. Now, I’m not saying that in any sort of arrogance, no-no-no. You not being in this match isn’t going to increase my chances of winning. Anyone who tells me I have a twenty-five percent chance of winning this is a full. Wrestling isn’t about luck, it’s about know-how and all-around skill. So! Take a breather or show up less than perfect if you’d like. You don’t seem like the quitting type. No one here does. So, either way, see you soon.
“Craig Anderson! You’ve had more luck than I have. At least you won your first match. Though… you and I haven’t had the best of luck as of late, have we? Good to see you again though since Fate of the Gods! Who knows. Maybe this time around, we’ll have a good match with each other. Someone’s got to kick their losing streak. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s me? But, I mean. There’s still two other people in this match. One of which, I’ve already spoken about. Which leaves...
“Patty-Cakes! Notice me! Nah, I’m kidding. But, hey. At least you’ve seemed to bounce back from our last match with Datura. You’ve got SOME momentum behind you, buddy. Maybe not too much what with you ALSO failing to grab a place at Heatstroke, but it’s some. It is enough? Who knows. That last match of ours was pretty down to the wire, I’d say. You Zoned-Out Datura. She wrecked us both. Good times… Let’s do it again!
“We’ve all got something to prove with this match, guys. But, I’m going to outline right now why I need this match. I need vindication. Two people in the Quest for the Case match have defeated me. Datura and Joanna Thade. I want my chance at them again. They’ve both taken my skills for granted. Which, who knows, maybe they are right. Datura stole her victory twice. Joanna was but a SLIVER better than me at Forty-Eight. I’m not going to sit with those quietly. Especially with Datura. Tristian, you were removed from our match last I checked so you wouldn’t understand. But, Patrick, Craig. You understand my pain slightly, don’t you? You both were there. At Forty-Six and Fate of the Gods. I faced you both… with her. And twice, she ripped the carpet out from under me. I’ve got things to prove. And to prove those things, obviously, I have to get past the two people I couldn’t defeat myself in the first place… and Tristan. So, you’re all on notice now. I’m not going to disgrace my legacy in this company with another pre-show match if I can damn well help it. Even if I should fall at Quest for a Case, goddamn if I’m not going to get my shot!”
Max needed a break after that final spiel. He took a generic plastic bottle of water from the side, cracked the plastic seal, and chugged a good half of it down. After another sigh to regain his thoughts and breath, he looked to the camera with a tired stare.
“Because a losing streak isn’t fun for anyone. So. We come full circle again. Ruby, remember your words when Joanna beat me? “I should emulate a winner,” right? Well… before Breakthrough Forty-Nine… I’m going to prove to you that I can be just that.
“A winner.”
---
It was a couple of days removed from Breakthrough Forty-Eight at this point. Max was happily seated in the back of a plane towards Breakthrough Forty-Nine’s location in Morgantown, West Virginia.
… And not a single idea came to mind since his stream day.
Luckily, his flight had internet, so he started to browse literally any sort of competition going on in the city.
… There was absolutely nothing going on.
Why in the hell are we even going to such a small state like West Virginia. Sure, there’s some things to do here, but for fuck’s sake, the first result of my search was a goddamn LUMBERJACK competition! I should have just swallowed my words about this idea.
He sulked back deep into his chair before looking out the window. Unlucky for him, despite buying the tickets pre-emptively in hopes he would have a free aisle, the two seats next to him were filled. At least they were quiet sleepers. A couple cuddled up against one another. How sweet.
Still prevents him from using this bathroom on this short flight over.
Why the fuck would you take a flight for an hour or so just to SLEEP?! Aaaah!
---
His bed in the Hilton Garden Inn welcomed him greatly. He wrapped himself up in the blankets and got himself in a comfortable position after the tedious flight. It was July 30th. The show was in five days, and Max was still without any plans of proving himself to being ‘a winner.’ He lingered in his room for a bit more, collecting his thoughts.
Maybe I should go pick a fight in a local bar. Metaphorically or, hell, why not literally. Beat someone in a drinking contest, then beat them up for real! … Yeah, no, that won’t work. Bad publicity.
Maybe there is some small indie federation around here! Though… maybe trying to get into another company might be a bad idea. I’m pretty sure VOW wouldn’t like me breaking their… non-compete ‘vow’. I crack myself up… but all the same, maybe trying to beat up upcoming talent is also a bad idea. Because either… I discourage them through a rather traumatizing defeat… or I throw myself into rapids if they get a win off of me.
I wonder what my opponents are even doing for this match. Maybe I should be hitting the gym a bit more. I’ve been lacking in that regard lately.
Though, have you seen this body? It doesn’t exactly scream ‘winner’ in the world of professional wrestling. I’m not going to suddenly powerlift five-hundred or something. Physically speaking, I’m probably one of the weakest people in the goddamn locker room. I’m just lucky to know how use momentum in my favor, as well as knowing where to kick. I’m pretty sure half the women of VOW could lift more than I do.
For fuck’s sake, I haven’t even won any competitive video games since Joanna whooped my ass. No shooters. No MOBAs. Nada. I can’t even claim I’m a winner with what I was best at before I got into this professional wrestling bullshit.
Y’know. Maybe this shit would be nicer and easier if I actually had a friend or partner in this company. Someone to, y’know, actually talk to instead of myself. Boyfriend is lingering in a hospital. Best frienemies still hate your guts probably. Wonder if Owen even still realizes you exist? Probably not, you haven’t really kept in contact with him since you left last time.
Maybe I should take up that bar idea… make a new friend. Yeah, fuck it. It’s not like you’re a world renowned superstar who fans would swoon for. Let’s have an impromptu meet-and-greet at a random bar! That ought to cheer me up.
Yeah… until no one knows who I am there.
Max lifted himself off the bed and moved into the bathroom. He checked himself out in the mirror for a moment.
Hair’s a mess. Baggy eyes. Saggy clothing. You look like a teenager who’s about ready to off himself, Max…
… Perfect, let’s go pick up some fans.
With a smile over his lips to his own self-destructive humor, he made his way out of his room and out of the hotel room. The closest place to the hotel was a quaint place called Pies and Pints. Rave reviews online as Max scrolled through their information. Sure enough, he walked along the road until he got there. He instantly sat himself at the bar and fished into his wallet. By the time the bartender came around, Max presented him with a twenty.
“I’d like an order of Pizza skins and the cheapest red wine you’ve got, please.”
“Oh, of course! But, you can wait til you’re done to pay if you’d like.” Mike, as denoted by his nametag, said while eyeing the twenty.
“Oh, that’s fine. This is your tip.” Max said simply as he stared the tall man dead in the eyes with a soft but serious tone. Mike was astonished for a moment before taking the offered bill.
“Well, now. What is the occasion? Did my wife put you up to this?” Mike seemed completely baffled by the sudden act of generosity.
“No. Just, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of bad customers. Trust me, I’ve been to enough places to know bartenders don’t get… the most respect. Also a video told me that if I gave my bartender a large tip, they’d give me amazing service for the whole night.” Max said simply before relaxing back in his chair.
“Well, now, I’m not entirely sure you’re supposed to repeat that second part to the person you’re trying to bribe, per se, for great service, but hell, I’ll bite! I’ll right on that for you.” Mike said before turning away with the order.
“Thanks.” Max said before turning in his seat to look around the place. The place was pretty active for a Saturday night. Most of the seats were packed. There was no television as it would seem, so people weren’t here for a game. With how the reviews were, they’re probably just here for a night out. Maybe some of them were wrestling fans here for VOW’s show this week! Who knows. Max could barely hear anyone individually.
Mike came back with a glass and Max’s appetizer rather quickly. Max turned his attention back to his bartender when he heard his plate and glass get placed on the bartop. He smiled up to Mike with a nod. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. Though, hey, I’ve seen you around, haven’t I? You’re… a wrestler, yeah?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Despite coming out with the intention of a mock meet-and-greet, Max wasn’t honestly expecting someone to know him in the city. The notion caught him off guard.
“Your name escapes me but I know of you, kid. You’re that bat-shit crazy kid who usually finds himself WAY over his head, right?”
“Hah… yeah, that sounds about right.” Max chuckled softly to himself before taking up his glass and swirling it around some. “Name’s Max, by the way. I assume you’re a fan then? Going to the show this week for Visionaries of Wrestling or have you just seen me elsewhere?”
“I follow a lot of promotions. I’ve seen your name around a couple of them, honestly. But, yes, I do plan on going to Breakthrough on my off-day! Do you have a match?”
“Yeah…” Max trailed off for a moment. “A couple of losers, including myself, facing off in a last chance match for a shot at a random championship match of our choosing.”
“Losers? Now, why would you call yourself that?” Mike asked quietly. He looked around the bar for a moment to see if there were any more customers in need but none spoke up. So, he offered his time to the wrestler.
“Well, because again. Everyone in this match has already failed a placement match. By definition, we lost and that makes us losers rolled together into a match where someone is going to be made into a winner.”
“Would you not call yourself a winner, Max?”
“Honestly, no one would call myself a winner right now.” Max took up one of the pizza skins and bit into it. “I haven’t won a match on my own in the longest of time…”
“You don’t seem defeated though.”
“Of course not. Just… a little tired and exhausted of disappointing fans, I guess.” Max sighed before finishing a slice of the pizza-like appetizer. His gaze was turned away by this point.
“Then I don’t believe you are a loser. Sure, you’re on a losing streak as you say, but that doesn’t exactly make you a loser.”
“Yeah? What does that make me then?”
“A winner who hasn’t had a firm chance to shine yet. Loser are people who give up completely and fall back into obscurity. You’re still fighting, aren’t you? Haven’t thrown in the towel? Haven’t retired? Then you’re not a loser. Not yet.”
Max’s attention was grabbed from that as he looked up at Mike with a curious stare before he let the bartender’s words soak in. “... I suppose you’ve got a point. Y’know. I paid for service, not a counsellor, Mike.”
“Bartenders function as both, basically.” Mike said with a smirk. “So, are you washed up yet?”
“No… I suppose not yet.” Max said before downing the rest of his wine. “I’m not out just yet! Hell, even if I lose this match, I’m still going to be out there kicking and screaming!”
“That’s the spirit! Here, want me to get you another glass?” Mike said before taking the empty glass from Max. Before Max could answer the question, a slight commotion stirred behind him. He turned around to see a group of young adults, probably about his age, looking for a fun night out. By the way one person was dressed, it looked to be a birthday celebration. Max looked from them back to Mike with a smirk.
“Actually… I’ve got a fun challenge. Mind letting me behind the counter for the night? You look like you might need some help tonight. I bet you another twenty against my tab that I can rack in more tips than you!”
“Is that a fact?” Mike said with crossed arms before looking at the group. With a shrug, Mike conceded. “Your bill is around seventeen dollars. Will be thirty-seven if you lose.”
“Deal! Let’s go!”
---
It was a long night for the two. The group of young adults continued to order drink after drink until every single member was shitfaced. Stack that on top of the the fact that everyone else in the restaurant wanted drinks as well and you have two very tired bartenders.
It was 10:27PM. The last customer was taking his leave.
“Have a nice day, thank you for dining with us!” Mike waved him off. Max collapsed against the counter with a heavy breath of relief.
“Jesus, I thought they’d never stop ordering drinks.” Max groaned against the counter before digging through his pockets to count up the tips he made.
“Welcome to Pies and Pints, Max. How much did you make?” Mike said before digging through his pockets for his own amount.
“I count… about thirty-seven!” Max said proudly. “Busy night to make just that in an hour… Shit, might be luck, but maybe I should take up bars again! Might be more lucrative than fucking wrestling. What about you?”
“Heh. You win. Barely. Thirty-five.” Mike said with a defeated sigh. Still, the bartender smiled to the wrestler. Max held his arms up in victory, almost as if he just won a championship in that bar.
“Hah! Suck a dick, Ruby, I can still win then!” Max said proudly before slamming his tip money right in-front of Mike. He hopped the bar and sprinted out of the restaurant triumphantly. One of the cooks came from the back and looked over at Mike for a moment. The thing that caught his eye instantly… was an extra five-dollar bill hidden in his hand behind his back.
“Sir?”
“Don’t mention it, Chris.” Mike said before sticking it with the pile. “The kid could use a pick-me-up and some confidence before his match. No need to talk it away from him. He made us all a good extra chunk of money anyway! Call it his reward.” Mike cleared his throat before calling out. “ALRIGHT, GUYS, WRAP IT UP AND LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!"
