Post by codemana on Sept 19, 2015 10:42:11 GMT -5
Int. The Rio.
We’re at the edge of what looks like a mile long buffet, featuring crude reimaginings of food from around the globe. Near the end of one of the troughs is Reno wearing dolphin shorts and a Las Vegas outlaws t-shirt. Standing next to him is a well dressed fellow who looks like he means some kind of business. Mustang pokes at some of the food in front of him, occasionally putting a piece or two on his plate after inspection. The other man, named Matt Neilson, is a wrestling writer here for an interview with the scourge of Balzar Avenue.
Reno: I hate prepping for a match. Stuffing all this ruffage down my throat just to keep pace with these other yahoos.
Neilson: Are you on a particular diet? One that promotes eating at an establishment like this?
Reno: I keep to the advice an old boxer once told me. Big Jim something or other. Higgins? Who cares. Anyways, he told me “Son! Stick to the greens up till weigh in then start piling on the bloody meats.” And also to stay away from potatoes since they were his idea of what cursed Irishmen from the sport. Now that i think about it maybe it was O’Higgins. Is that a real name?
Neilson: Not that i’ve ever heard. Say, how bout we take a seat and eat some of these greens? Maybe get to that interview you promised me?
Reno: Sure, why not? I’ve gathered all the good will i’m willing to chew on. Let’s get down to the fat at hand.
The pair have now sat themselves on one of the small tables in the buffet. Around them are scattered people, mostly loners and a few couples that look less interested in each other as they are in the piles of booze soaking food they’ve put in front of themselves. Reno chomps down on his Hidden Valley© drenched array of vegetables as his guest pushes play on the recorder.
Neilson: All right. So Mr. Mustang.
Reno: Reno’s fine.
Neilson: I suppose Mr. Mustang is your father?
Reno: Not exactly. Unless by some miracle i was spawned out of an exhaust pipe.
Neilson: (nervously) Heh. Well anyway. I wanted to start by asking where exactly did you come from. Professionally speaking. I tried researching your prior career online and couldn’t find much. Mostly youtube videos of you breaking light bulbs on people.
Reno: Yes. The good old days. When all it took was a gapped tooth smile and a weed whacker to get over. But to your question. Truth is most of the footage of my past conquests was seized when it turned out the my old booker was not quite on the level concerning his business practices.
Neilson: What was he up to? Embezzlement?
Reno: (laughs) Lord no. He never had the brain for stealing from himself. As it happens he was using all our fight footage as a sizzle real to open for cock fights down in Pomona. Once the cops seized his place they confiscated all the other tapes he had, including all the wrestling footage. It’s now a ward of the state. Much like i used to be.
Neilson: You were in a group home? I’m sorry to pry.
Reno: Not at all. And group hardly, home sure why not. Let’s say i’ve seen the business end of a night stick more times than i’d care to remember and leave it at that.
Neilson: Fair enough. Who trained you? Did you receive any formal training?
Reno: You think i learned how to staple gun a guy’s head with just my toes all by myself? (chuckles) Well my history in combat training was similar to that of my schooling. Brief, sporadic, and mostly delivered by old salts trying to maintain their filthy habits by passing themselves off as sensei.
Neilson: So you do have a martial arts background? I’d suspected as much. Despite the way you sometimes carry yourself in the ring i can recognize a proper kick when i see one.
Reno: Big Sammo Hung fan too eh? Calling it a background might be a bit of a silk hat on the pig, but yes i’ve studied more than a few of the war like arts. One of the boons of living in Vegas is the sheer variety of folk that pass through. The other great thing is how many of them are completely lost when they arrive here. Show them a good time and they’ll pay you back with whatever they’ve got left when the hangover’s broken. As a native, and a fan of putting it to suckers, i did what i could to shepherd those who could teach me fun new ways of sticking up for myself in those night stick situations i spoke of earlier. Never earned a belt, outside of the ones i purloined from Sears, but i can show you a thing or two about more than a few techniques. Except that flippy dancing one. Much to my chagrin.
Neilson: Not as many Brazilian tourists around the strip?
Reno: Plenty. They’re just much smarter with their money. And their secrets.
Neilson: I understand. Now to the matter at hand. What’s brought you to the UWR? Aside from a no doubt generous offer from Mr. Bishop.
Reno: More fun mostly. That’s about the best sound bite i can offer. Not much for the praise god, go team, hundred and ten percent-isms.
Neilson: That wasn’t exactly what i was looking for. Just what interested you in an organization that was a bit more, shall i say legitimate than your previous places of work?
Reno: Gorgeous Juggalettes of Micro Wrestling is illegitimate in your eyes? Mr. Neilson. For shame. That may just be the last and final, albeit first insult. I’m afraid i’ll have to end our talk here.
Neilson: What? No. I didn’t mean to degrade where you’ve been just…
Reno: But you already have. I think footing the bill would be a good first step in mending our friendship.
Reno rises from his chair and wipes ranch dressing from the side of his face. Neilson looks more and more puzzled as the interview breaks down.
Neilson: Now wait a second. You promised me a solid half hour to talk to you. You can’t…
The siren of a passing ambulance wails outside.
Reno: Well tough titty friendo. That’s my ride now.
Reno scuttles out towards the large double doors. Neilson’s look of shock remains for a solid minute before resigning to his fate and putting away his recorder.
End.
We’re at the edge of what looks like a mile long buffet, featuring crude reimaginings of food from around the globe. Near the end of one of the troughs is Reno wearing dolphin shorts and a Las Vegas outlaws t-shirt. Standing next to him is a well dressed fellow who looks like he means some kind of business. Mustang pokes at some of the food in front of him, occasionally putting a piece or two on his plate after inspection. The other man, named Matt Neilson, is a wrestling writer here for an interview with the scourge of Balzar Avenue.
Reno: I hate prepping for a match. Stuffing all this ruffage down my throat just to keep pace with these other yahoos.
Neilson: Are you on a particular diet? One that promotes eating at an establishment like this?
Reno: I keep to the advice an old boxer once told me. Big Jim something or other. Higgins? Who cares. Anyways, he told me “Son! Stick to the greens up till weigh in then start piling on the bloody meats.” And also to stay away from potatoes since they were his idea of what cursed Irishmen from the sport. Now that i think about it maybe it was O’Higgins. Is that a real name?
Neilson: Not that i’ve ever heard. Say, how bout we take a seat and eat some of these greens? Maybe get to that interview you promised me?
Reno: Sure, why not? I’ve gathered all the good will i’m willing to chew on. Let’s get down to the fat at hand.
The pair have now sat themselves on one of the small tables in the buffet. Around them are scattered people, mostly loners and a few couples that look less interested in each other as they are in the piles of booze soaking food they’ve put in front of themselves. Reno chomps down on his Hidden Valley© drenched array of vegetables as his guest pushes play on the recorder.
Neilson: All right. So Mr. Mustang.
Reno: Reno’s fine.
Neilson: I suppose Mr. Mustang is your father?
Reno: Not exactly. Unless by some miracle i was spawned out of an exhaust pipe.
Neilson: (nervously) Heh. Well anyway. I wanted to start by asking where exactly did you come from. Professionally speaking. I tried researching your prior career online and couldn’t find much. Mostly youtube videos of you breaking light bulbs on people.
Reno: Yes. The good old days. When all it took was a gapped tooth smile and a weed whacker to get over. But to your question. Truth is most of the footage of my past conquests was seized when it turned out the my old booker was not quite on the level concerning his business practices.
Neilson: What was he up to? Embezzlement?
Reno: (laughs) Lord no. He never had the brain for stealing from himself. As it happens he was using all our fight footage as a sizzle real to open for cock fights down in Pomona. Once the cops seized his place they confiscated all the other tapes he had, including all the wrestling footage. It’s now a ward of the state. Much like i used to be.
Neilson: You were in a group home? I’m sorry to pry.
Reno: Not at all. And group hardly, home sure why not. Let’s say i’ve seen the business end of a night stick more times than i’d care to remember and leave it at that.
Neilson: Fair enough. Who trained you? Did you receive any formal training?
Reno: You think i learned how to staple gun a guy’s head with just my toes all by myself? (chuckles) Well my history in combat training was similar to that of my schooling. Brief, sporadic, and mostly delivered by old salts trying to maintain their filthy habits by passing themselves off as sensei.
Neilson: So you do have a martial arts background? I’d suspected as much. Despite the way you sometimes carry yourself in the ring i can recognize a proper kick when i see one.
Reno: Big Sammo Hung fan too eh? Calling it a background might be a bit of a silk hat on the pig, but yes i’ve studied more than a few of the war like arts. One of the boons of living in Vegas is the sheer variety of folk that pass through. The other great thing is how many of them are completely lost when they arrive here. Show them a good time and they’ll pay you back with whatever they’ve got left when the hangover’s broken. As a native, and a fan of putting it to suckers, i did what i could to shepherd those who could teach me fun new ways of sticking up for myself in those night stick situations i spoke of earlier. Never earned a belt, outside of the ones i purloined from Sears, but i can show you a thing or two about more than a few techniques. Except that flippy dancing one. Much to my chagrin.
Neilson: Not as many Brazilian tourists around the strip?
Reno: Plenty. They’re just much smarter with their money. And their secrets.
Neilson: I understand. Now to the matter at hand. What’s brought you to the UWR? Aside from a no doubt generous offer from Mr. Bishop.
Reno: More fun mostly. That’s about the best sound bite i can offer. Not much for the praise god, go team, hundred and ten percent-isms.
Neilson: That wasn’t exactly what i was looking for. Just what interested you in an organization that was a bit more, shall i say legitimate than your previous places of work?
Reno: Gorgeous Juggalettes of Micro Wrestling is illegitimate in your eyes? Mr. Neilson. For shame. That may just be the last and final, albeit first insult. I’m afraid i’ll have to end our talk here.
Neilson: What? No. I didn’t mean to degrade where you’ve been just…
Reno: But you already have. I think footing the bill would be a good first step in mending our friendship.
Reno rises from his chair and wipes ranch dressing from the side of his face. Neilson looks more and more puzzled as the interview breaks down.
Neilson: Now wait a second. You promised me a solid half hour to talk to you. You can’t…
The siren of a passing ambulance wails outside.
Reno: Well tough titty friendo. That’s my ride now.
Reno scuttles out towards the large double doors. Neilson’s look of shock remains for a solid minute before resigning to his fate and putting away his recorder.
End.