Post by Irvine on Mar 8, 2019 23:19:27 GMT -5
Dishes crash in the distance causing a few patrons to turn their heads. Their mindless chatter fills the Swedish Chef’s Spaghetti Buffet like mindless white noise, the shrill cry of a baby runs up the spines of a couple waiting by the door, causing them to leave disgusted.
At a table in the corner, sits Alexander Irvine dressed in his usual garb, with a look of delight as he pulls his chair in closer to his meal. The sound of a woman clearing her throat distracts him as he looks up to see Francine Shields standing in what seemed to be the tightest dress she could possibly have found.
“What?"
“Aren’t you going to pull the chair out?”
Irvine’s eyebrows raised in confusion. She let out a huff of air and placed her plate down and sat down with him. He had already begun to spin the noodles of his meal around his fork as she cleared her throat again. He looked up.
“What is it this time Francine.”
“Don’t you think that we should talk a little business before you start hogging that plate like AJ does air time.”
Irvine smirked, letting out a slow exhale as he pushed the plate away from him. He rested his elbows down upon the table and interlaced his fingers before smiling at her.
“Go ahead.”
Francine smiled and placed her elbows on the table, hands together it what was only the most silent, feminine display of a clap he had ever seen.
“Well first there’s the issue of the Twitter account.”
Irvine waves it off.
“It’s yours. I hate that fucking piece of shit anyway. Next.”
She takes in a slow breath.
“We’ve discussed more advertisments.”
Again, he waves it off.
“Fine. Just don’t fill my tights with more logos than Hammersteins trash can has candy wrappers and all’s good. Next.”
Again, she takes in a slow deep breath.
“Are you going to take this seriously?”
Irvine snarls as he rolls his eyes, pulling his plate back over. Francine sits silently as she just watches biting her lower lip. The display is truly something to behold, almost as much as watching AJ Knight having his head bashed into a steel cage while having the life squeezed out of him.
“Alex can we…”
Irvine places his fork down rather violently quickly wiping the mess from his face with a napkin and tossing it onto his place.
“Seriously? My grandson’s been sick and there's no diagnoses, his mother has been re-activated by the Corps, and to top it off my cunt of an ex-wife won’t let me see him. The ring is my only distraction and my only means of helping.”
“Alex. I wasn’t trying to insinuate that…”
“That doesn't make it any better. What did you won’t to ask me?”
Francine tried to smile softly.
“The MAX tour is coming up and I’m they are going to ask you your thoughts.”
“Honestly Francine. This tour is a bunch of Tag Matches and I’m not to worried about it. Other than having to pull Troy’s dead weight I think I’ll be fine. I think I've proven to be easy work with”
This time it is Francine who looks bewildered.
“What about Hammerstein?”
Irvine smirked.
“I’ve looked forward to breaking that fatback piece of shit for years now. Cutlass got to break him a few times and Jimmy even got to scramble his brains. I don’t know what he’s been doing other than going a few rounds with Jenny Craig but he’s going to be spilling more than chocolate syrup all over that ring when I’m done with him."
Irvine pushes his fist into the palm of his hand.
"He has nothing interesting to say and nothing original to contribute. All his best insults are just piggy backs of his wrestling betters. Even goddamn Knight, heaven help me, can think of better quips than Captain Sausage Fingers."
Irvine laughs.
"The only person I’ve ever wanted to hurt worse is Knight, and I’ve done that twice now. It’s fat boy’s turn. They might as well rename it a Steel Pig Pen Match with as much shit I’m going to give that turd. He’ll be buried under so much of it he’ll be rolling in it. Course maybe he’d be happier than a pig in…”
“Please. That’s enough.”
Irvine slowly moved to get up but Francine raised her hand to him for a second.
“Where the hell are you going?”
Irvine points to the buffet.
“I’m fighting Hammerstein so I’ve got to do my research. Who knows him better than a buffet?”
At a table in the corner, sits Alexander Irvine dressed in his usual garb, with a look of delight as he pulls his chair in closer to his meal. The sound of a woman clearing her throat distracts him as he looks up to see Francine Shields standing in what seemed to be the tightest dress she could possibly have found.
“What?"
“Aren’t you going to pull the chair out?”
Irvine’s eyebrows raised in confusion. She let out a huff of air and placed her plate down and sat down with him. He had already begun to spin the noodles of his meal around his fork as she cleared her throat again. He looked up.
“What is it this time Francine.”
“Don’t you think that we should talk a little business before you start hogging that plate like AJ does air time.”
Irvine smirked, letting out a slow exhale as he pushed the plate away from him. He rested his elbows down upon the table and interlaced his fingers before smiling at her.
“Go ahead.”
Francine smiled and placed her elbows on the table, hands together it what was only the most silent, feminine display of a clap he had ever seen.
“Well first there’s the issue of the Twitter account.”
Irvine waves it off.
“It’s yours. I hate that fucking piece of shit anyway. Next.”
She takes in a slow breath.
“We’ve discussed more advertisments.”
Again, he waves it off.
“Fine. Just don’t fill my tights with more logos than Hammersteins trash can has candy wrappers and all’s good. Next.”
Again, she takes in a slow deep breath.
“Are you going to take this seriously?”
Irvine snarls as he rolls his eyes, pulling his plate back over. Francine sits silently as she just watches biting her lower lip. The display is truly something to behold, almost as much as watching AJ Knight having his head bashed into a steel cage while having the life squeezed out of him.
“Alex can we…”
Irvine places his fork down rather violently quickly wiping the mess from his face with a napkin and tossing it onto his place.
“Seriously? My grandson’s been sick and there's no diagnoses, his mother has been re-activated by the Corps, and to top it off my cunt of an ex-wife won’t let me see him. The ring is my only distraction and my only means of helping.”
“Alex. I wasn’t trying to insinuate that…”
“That doesn't make it any better. What did you won’t to ask me?”
Francine tried to smile softly.
“The MAX tour is coming up and I’m they are going to ask you your thoughts.”
“Honestly Francine. This tour is a bunch of Tag Matches and I’m not to worried about it. Other than having to pull Troy’s dead weight I think I’ll be fine. I think I've proven to be easy work with”
This time it is Francine who looks bewildered.
“What about Hammerstein?”
Irvine smirked.
“I’ve looked forward to breaking that fatback piece of shit for years now. Cutlass got to break him a few times and Jimmy even got to scramble his brains. I don’t know what he’s been doing other than going a few rounds with Jenny Craig but he’s going to be spilling more than chocolate syrup all over that ring when I’m done with him."
Irvine pushes his fist into the palm of his hand.
"He has nothing interesting to say and nothing original to contribute. All his best insults are just piggy backs of his wrestling betters. Even goddamn Knight, heaven help me, can think of better quips than Captain Sausage Fingers."
Irvine laughs.
"The only person I’ve ever wanted to hurt worse is Knight, and I’ve done that twice now. It’s fat boy’s turn. They might as well rename it a Steel Pig Pen Match with as much shit I’m going to give that turd. He’ll be buried under so much of it he’ll be rolling in it. Course maybe he’d be happier than a pig in…”
“Please. That’s enough.”
Irvine slowly moved to get up but Francine raised her hand to him for a second.
“Where the hell are you going?”
Irvine points to the buffet.
“I’m fighting Hammerstein so I’ve got to do my research. Who knows him better than a buffet?”