Posted by Danny Argus on September 2, 2004, 4:32 pm

“####ing jackasses ” [Danny Argus is rarely a happy man when it comes to wrestling. Sometimes he says he loves it, sometimes he admits he hates it, but it doesn’t matter on which side of that thin line he stands, whether he hates it or loves it, he lives for it. Now, backstage after losing to Top Dollar in the second round of the tournament, Fats would blatantly say how he “####ing hates wrestling” but he doesn’t hate wrestling he hates politics.] “I wasn’t supposed to ####ing fight HIM.” [He’s referring to Top Dollar obviously, because as far as he and everyone who followed the CAL could tell, his bracket was moved. It should have been Fats to meet Quinn Tate in the second rounds. Runnels was supposed to be fed to Dollar. ####ing Politics.] [Danny gets up off of the wooden bench of the dressing room back stage. He doesn’t even bother to change into civilian clothes. Wearing his black pants with blue stitching along the seams, Danny picks up a towel and wipes his baldhead and upper body down before looking at the wet towel and tossing it across the room. For a while, his anger sinks down and he seems almost uncaring though it’s obviously not so. He picks up a black T-shirt and looks at it. “CAL: Quest For The Chosen One ” he turns it around to the back, where the brackets are printed, along with the information, the where’s and when’s of it all.] “Complete. ####ing. Bullshit.” [With that, Danny calmly and slowly rips the overpriced cotton shirt down the back, splitting the brackets with the sound of tearing fabric. With that, he picks up his blue duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder and exits the dressing room.] . “The Barn” Fats personal gym in the middle of nowhere. The first thing we’ll notice is the torn up lawn where Fats drove his truck, probably at unreasonable speeds and angles in a fit of anger. Next we’ll notice the light coming from the partially open door, illuminating the ground outside as the sun goes down over the hilly country side. We enter the open door to a scene that’s somewhat chaotic. Despite the usual neat and clean atmosphere inside Fats’ personal getaway gym, things are strewn about carelessly. Free weights scattered, the floor is scuffed from where most likely the weights landed after being made airborne. In the neat finished wall is a hole, from which protrudes a 25lb free weight. Off in the corner, reminiscent of a living room with TV VCR and chairs, the trauma hasn’t been spared. The TV is sitting screen down, possibly smashed. The VCR is leaning against the wall with the corner stuck in a dent it created there. In the middle of this chaos, sitting on the turnbuckle of the training ring, is Danny “Fats” Argus, recent sore loser of Crusade For The Chosen One. He looks normal enough, carpenter jeans, white sneakers, a black sleeveless t-shirt with “Argus Revolution” printed across the front in plain white letters. The thing that seems odd is the bottle of Jose Quervo in his hand. Is Fats trashed? It could be assumed, most definitely, he’s holding a half empty bottle of Tequila (half full, depending on how you look at it), his gym is in shambles, he’s sitting on the turnbuckle staring at the middle of the ring who’s to say he didn’t drink that other half some other time, or over several outings. Whether he’s completely drunk off his ass or not isn’t really important. It’s what happens next, as there’s a knock on the door of the barn. knock Daemon Curtis sees no need to wait for a reply as he walks into the barn, not ignoring the mess as he cautiously steps over a few weights and surveys the situation. He walks up the steel steps of the ring and crosses over the second rope, diagonal from Fats. Slowly he raises himself to the turnbuckle and sits, not saying anything, waiting for Fats to respond. It takes a few minutes, and he never does look up to acknowledge him Danny: We have some talking to do. . [A glimpse at Argus Gabriel Argus. The younger brother to Fats a no-time champion of any sort a confused young cruiserweight with no federation to call a home anymore. Gabriel’s a troubled young guy, very early 20’s, with absolutely nothing to do but drink and cause trouble, like college kids, but he doesn’t have to pay tuition or skip class, since there’s no classes that he’d ever take.] BANG [That is NOT a gunshot or a bomb well, it could be considered a bomb.] Gabriel: That was ####ing AWESOME [Gabriel and another man we’ll recognize as Andy Brown run down the street as house lights come on all along Broad Street in Salamanca. It’s dark out and the minor explosion has awoken many angry citizens. The cops will soon be called, but it’s ok because Gabriel is sure nobody knows it’s him.] Andy: Hey man, cut through the alley and we’ll get back to my apartment [Gabriel readily obliges the shortcut, slowing down as he enters the alley, leaning against the wall to catch a breather. This is the first time we get a good look at both men. Gabriel’s in blue shorts down to his knees, black Nike’s and a white wife-beater. Andy’s wearing baggy blue carpenter jeans, once-white sneakers and a wife-beater. Also we’ll notice what is in their hands Andy Brown (not to be mistaken with the reporter. Andy is a long time wrestler from the EWF and CW for some time) has a roll of tin foil in his hand as he stands next to Gabriel, grinning ear to ear. Gabriel has a bottle of The Works toilet bowl cleaner and disinfectant any pyro/idiot knows, when you mix tin foil and The Works into a pop bottle, put the cap on, shake and toss it it’ll explode. Hence the explosion.] Gabriel: We have to get rid of this shit, still a few blocks from your place and I don’t feel like getting busted. [Andy gives a questionable look as he scratches the beginning of a goatee] Andy: Get busted? Man, how would we get busted? Even if we got stopped how could they prove it was us? Gabriel: [shaking his head] You don’t think it’s a little suspicious that we’re carrying around tin foil and toilet bowl cleaner, middle of the night, and there’s a blown up pop bottle sitting in that old guys yard just happens to be the old guy who told the cops we kicked his cat? Andy: We didn’t kick his cat though man, that’s bullshit [Gabriel opens a trash can and drops the bottle of toilet cleaner inside before replying.] Gabriel: It may be bullshit but the cops believe the old guy, and I don’t feel like a night in jail and a day in court, so ditch the foil and lets head out to your place [Andy sighs frustrated, and tosses the tinfoil aside before heading out the other side of the alley. Gabriel follows.] . “Do you understand?” [Danny’s voice rings out as Daemon’s 1960 Biscayne starts up, the engine purring. Daemon gives a hateful glance through the open window before putting the car in reverse and backing out of his parking spot. The lights of the car make Danny squint as Daemon pulls away down the long dirt driveway and onto the road. Danny just follows the car with his scowling gaze before he closes the door of the barn and gets in his truck.]