BRO HANLON BIZZ RIZZ

Anxiety is the fucking beast that holds no mercy. It comes and goes but when it comes, it's like a goddamn six foot ten pornstar shooting for the stars. It doesn't care what you're doing. It doesn't give a royal fuck what you need to do. It just comes and it will fuck everything up just to prove it can.

It comes so hard, bro.

The proof is in the pudding. Raffi leaps from behind his desk. Greg spits out a savory sip of his AM Mai Tai. Seeing how shaken their group is, both LaRoque boys stand back to back and shoot off karate gestures.

“Where are zey coming from?” Broque’s head lives on a swivel.

Raffi can't do much more but point at his phone with an open mouth. Jacque and Broque stay at the ready for further instruction. The Ego makes his way to Raffi’s side before putting his eyes on what seems to be the cause of all this tomfoolery.

“Well…” Greg’s eyes drift away. “Shit.”

The ominous tone in his voice is strong. It's not long before that tone is broken by two doors clanging open. Behind the bangs comes PRIME’s resident ravenous red hot connoisseur, Crash Jackson, and he’s got a lot of mustard in his gate. He gets mid room before throwing a surprise jump and hand wave.

“Goooood morning!” Crash sings his well wishes to his companions. “How did everyone sleep?”

Maybe I shouldn't have been so forward that I slept really really good bro…

“He hasn’t seen it,” Greg nods, for certain.

Crash stops and grins, “Heard what?”

That My Love? Is coming back and I already ordered flowers to celbrate the occasion?

“So,” Raffi hesitates because, deep down, he’s a bitch. “There’s a booking change.”

MaxMaxMaxMaxMaxMax

Greg jumps in, sick of the bullshit; “You gotta take on Hayes Hanlon.”

Here we go Hayes.

Thought I’d never get the chance.

Didn’t think I was at your level, right?

Oh…

Right.

You’re down here now.

• - 

The Hot Dog Hero falls from the sky and lands on one knee, one shin like all the fucking sweet super hero hotdogs do. The issue is that it’s complete darkness and there’s no imminent threat. Yet. Then there’s a giant flash on the horizon, an event perhaps, and it blinds everyone and overtakes everything. It’s amazing. In such a short span of time, such a historical event, that it will never be forgotten.

Not to me, Hayes

A giant figure storms toward Crash, mustache flowing in the wind, before Crash curls into a ball and tries to hide from the Comeback Kid. Buffalo’s Finest then sees the snowflakes and remembers that there’s no giving up in his bones either. They clash, Hanlon wrenching Crash around, before they both break free and pull back for an action punch on one another that will rock the timeline.

Shake it up, baby.

• - - 

The DOGterogue is hot in the prowl in Perth tonight. This time, to avoid any of those Sydney-like fiascos, Greg and Raffi accompany Jacque and Broque in their efforts to execute said plan. And actually make sure Crash doesn’t take any trains to the fuckin’ Bush again.

“Oh relax, Raff,” Greg chuckles and sips, as he does. “Just have a good time.”

The Ego nods as head scans the bar. He’s very accustomed to being in them, for that matter. The two LaRoque goons are as well yet remain sitting and enjoying their beverages amongst the Perth party goers. Raffi though? He is the fish out of the water, as they might say, and is in a state of shock.

Greg locates his gaze and spots a girl grinding while shooting pool. He lets out a laugh, somehow remembering the first time he hit the road as a young twenty year old. His face switches, fondly remembering what once was, before looking at the sight ahead of them. He nudges Raffi with a nostalgic, soft elbow.

“Those were the days, Raffi,” Greg says with a sincere tone loud enough to cut through the background.

This is the moment night club Raffi’s eyes spot a familiar face. Crash. It just so happens he’s carrying five hot dogs and two pitchers of beer and an over-the-moon smile. There’s a lot of obvious reasons for it. The hot dogs. The beers to be drunk. But this is a wide, ear-to-ear smile with teeth and all.

Greg looks at his near empty glass, “Well if ain’t Mister Twenty Minutes Later.”

The Northern Light is quick to set down the pitchers as not to spill them. He is not an asshole. But, just as quick, he begins to pass out the hotdogs. The first goes to Broque.

Crash grins, “One for you…”

Broque’s eyes glisten at the sight of the proper displacement of ketchup and mustard and even small itty bitty diced onions. Once Jacque gets sight on his gift, his eyes narrow, wondering where this knife work came from. Crash theatrically bows away, revealing a smiling chef in the short order window.

“Onions courtesy of Chaz in the back,” Jackson knows that’s the chef’s kiss in this hotdog group. “He’s Australian.”

The wink from Crash spins Greg’s eyeballs up into his head. He knows this kid’s an idiot but didn’t think he was that big of an idiot. Raffi accepts his hotdog just before Crash gets to the elder grappler.

“And one…” he pauses, looking The Ego in his eyes sincerely and nodding. “For you, bro.”

I don’t want a fuckin’ hotdog, Crash,” Greg snaps back, looking at it inquisitively. “Where did you get these this time?”

There’s that type of tension of the one kid who doesn’t wanna play what everyone wants to play. That’s what we have here. Greg is that kid. Buffalo’s Finest steps back and raises his hotdog toward each and everyone but that fuckin’ kid and ignores his bullshit.

“Cheers, boys,” Crash holds his hotdog forward.

The LaRoques stand up in unison, never letting their eyes leave Crash, and raise their hotdogs as well, touching tips. Raffi just does it because he has a hotdog in his hand. Greg is the only one to resist this weird hotdog group thing in the middle of a bar on another continent.

“Come on, bro,” Crash breaks through the brain noise. “Touch it.”

Greg doesn’t, “What the hell are we even doin’ this about? Last I checked, you aren’t exactly hot right now, dog.”

Okay, that was a good one. 

Dick.

The guy who hasn’t really done much and most recently lost to Hessian shrugs, knowing Greg has a valid point, but also knows that there’s something he cares about a little bit more than Greg cares about his silly ass Mai Tais.

Violent fuckin’ Purple

Crash’s mood changes. It washes away that doubt and self control and shows through his further raising of his hotdog and pointing at Greg because he isn’t gonna wait for someone to slow down any type of hotdog toast he’s trying to do.

“Here’s to you all,” he doesn’t let his eyes miss a person from his circle, especially Greg. “Got me a chance to go out and impress Violent Purple and win her back again!”

Crash slams down on his hotdog as everyone else in the group watches him and kind of cringe but try not to be too obvious. They all know. He’s not sure what he knows since the screwdriver.

There’s a lot to decipher between the ankle wrenchings and getting pounded by a three hundred pound Murder Show man-slash-monster. Greg never drops his eyes from the guy Raffi Azarian hired him to mentor and mold into something of value.

You wanna fuckin’ go, old man?!

Greg notices that look and puts up his hotdog. Then he sets it on the table.

Motherfucker

“Look, kid,” he’s quick to use a defusing tone. “I’m on your side.”

Crash speaks while chewing, pretty sure he stoles Raffi’s and is trying to do the same to Jacque; “My side? If you were on my side, bro, you’d be helpin’ me.”

“I am,” Greg is already working on one of the pitchers. “Tryin’ to get you to focus on the important shit rather then some girl. Whose goin’ t’...”

What, Greg?

He sighs and drops eye contact with Crash. The Northern Light can’t seem to find a single person in the group who will look him in the face. He still smiles.

“You guys don’t know what it’s like,” he pleads. “When she sees me…”

Sparks are gonna fly, bro.

His eyes water a little. But they’re at the club and they’re celebrating. Broque begins t pour out the beers. Crash clangs glasses with everyone.

Good to be with the boys.

“So I was thinkin’ earlier, right?” Crash takes a huuuuge sip. “And, like, Hessian… Universal Title guy, right?”

Greg takes an eager swig, hoping to numb whatever the fuck he’s about to hear. There’s a notion of where this could go but where it will go is a very fun thing to unfold. Broque LaRoque seems very interested as he begins polishing off the second pitcher.

“And now…” Crash does the dramatic pause. “Hanlon, another Universal Title guy… right?”

He does the bomb thing next to his head and it really only gets Broque because he’s the most polite Canadian ever. Plus he was drinking his beer. So when Raffi looks at Greg and Greg looks at Raffi it’s a very understanding gesture that they understand what Crash is misunderstanding. He sees that they’re having a look and stops doing his thing.

“What’s that about, boys?” Crash’s tone drops to nervousness.

Raffi looks at Greg again. This time it’s with the whole Do you want me to tell him or should I? Expression. The Ego steps up, knowing when it’s time to earn his paycheck, and hopefully steer a ship to nicer waters.

“Kid…” Greg drops the niceties. “You’re wood for the chipper, right now.”

Don’t I know it.

“And you’re side?” Greg snaps back, waving his glass around. “What about my side?”

Your side? The fuck does th

“Here I am, sitting on South Beach,” Greg pauses as Crash does. “Living my life.”

Fuck dude

Crash’s eyes drop.

“Some guy calls me up,” Greg shoots a thumb at the awestruck Raffi, still not sure if he’s going to Hell for boeing here or not. “And tells me that he wants me to teach this superstar hotshot to be the best in PRIME…”

Greg takes a drink. His mouth is dry after spitting all the truths he’s been holding back for months. The group all manage to let their eyes look at Crash. He’s not fighting it. He doesn’t look mad. He just looks acceptant of the words thrown at him. Greg leans forward as he notices the lack of emphatic reaction.

He drops his voice, “Where’s that guy?”

• - - - 

Crash isn’t gonna bust up this party just yet so he just smiles and gins at the older and much more out of shape guy telling him how to live his life. He nods, knowing that the words thrown at him aren’t necessarily wrong but hurtful nonetheless. Jason Jackson drops his eyes from The Ego and locks onto the empty pitchers. He snatches them before holding them up.

“I’ll just go get us another round,” he grins to sell the pleasant exit.

Fuckin’ asshole.

Jason makes his way through the crowd as the thoughts put in his head slip by. The route is simple, which allows him to think about his loss to Dawkins at Colossus and then the last one against Hessian. There’s so much at stake but every time, he seems to fall flat, and can’t seem to pull out of the quicksand that he’s fallen into.

I’m gonna beat Hayes and win VP back.

“Hey pal,” Crash approaches the bar. “Two more of these and uhh… a shot of whiskey?”

I have to pull through this time, bro.

In that moment and thought Crash notices he’s drawn the attention of a cute brunette a few stools down. He offers a polite smile before she nods and smiles.

Oh shit

“Whadda we got here? Big spender?” she hops off her stool and approaches Crash. “Mind if I join ya?”

Well I mean… we’re not married so

“One for the lady!” Crash barks as the bartender pours their shots.

They receive their drinks before the man behind the bar nods, “Tab for the wrestler. Be right back, mate.”

Damn right. The Wrestler. Remember that, bro.

The girl’s face lights up. It’s something to be like a rockstar out in public but, a wrestler? Imagine an in-shape rock star who knows how to eat hotdogs and drink beer.

Jackpot, babe

“A wrestler, huh?” she twirls her hair a little bit. “You a big time somebody?”

She smiles, teasing, but it draws out an honest expression from the man she just met. He grins, politely, but deep down, knows that any honest answer is gonna give an unimpressive response.

Maybe I am? Hmm

“Well I'm facin’ a somebody this week,” Crash pauses to wonder if it means anything. “So what's that make me?”

Think that’s gonna work with her?

She smiles and raises her glass. Maybe it did. Crash figures the only way to find out is to follow suit and clang glasses with her before they both drop down their shots of brown. She nudges him as they both relish in it’s delight.

“So you wanna get out of here, big boy?” she holds eye contact and a grip on his wrist that says that it is definitely going down should he say yes.

His first eyes narrow at the thought. Then the thoughts of why he’s here, today, and what he’s doing tomorrow and the next day creep into his mind. Crash pulls back but with a smile.

Let her down gently, bromeo

“I can’t, girl,” he knows it’s gonna sound weak. “My heart belongs to another.”

Wouldn’t be fair to you, Angel of the Tonight

He watches as she slips away with a smile. The thoughts cross his mind of a healthy, real relationship with a real life woman before dashing back to the reality of where he’s at. There’s only wishing in that situation. Right now, he has worlds of problems to juggle, and he can’t seem to catch any of them.

At least I can save that girl from it

• - - - - 

The Event Horizon hasn’t been burnin’ so bright lately though has it, Hayes?

I get it.

The Northern Light’s been pretty dim, too, dude.

No better time to put on a show that makes that Perth purse that much prettier, eh playboy?

I’m up for the fight.

You know what it’s like to be a Home Run.

I’m just trying to be one.