North board, roleplay 2

"Vodka and Cranberry."

The music dies down.

"Jack and Coke."

"Sex, you've been drinking the same thing for five years now."

"Stick with a winner."

"But we stick with you as our drummer, my dear Stanley."

Laughter.

"Funny, Angel," replied Sex, "Remind me to bring this up when you start to get fat."

More laughter.

"Just a water."

The jukebox kicks back in - playing "Sober" by Tool.

"Hey, it's our song!"

"Not quite, Angel - this is the real version."

"But I've got a nicer ass than Maynard."

"I dunno about that.... I've seen him dressed in kabuki-prog facepaint wearing a padded bra and thong."

"So you've seen both of 'em dressed in a padded bra and thong?"

"Hah-Hah," replied Angel, "Very funny."

"Double Absolut Martini, two olives."

"Why can't we not be sober?" sang Angel, absent- mindedly.

"Bass Ale."

"So serious. How can you drink that English shite?"

"Jamican Lager is so much better, Mickey, huh?"

"Yeah, actually... it is."

"Beer. Miller Genuine Draft."

"Club soda with a lime, please."

The waitress leaves with their drink orders, and the seven people sitting at this table resume their idle conversation. Five
of them are musicians, enjoying a rare night off with full pay. The venue that they were scheduled to play at - The Court
Tavern - had a problem with their sound system. Since it was no fault of the band's, they all got a night off, with full pay.

Even better, they're in Los Angeles, which means everyone in the band gets to go home tonight.

There's Stan "Sex" Xavier, their wiseass drummer who has made it known to various venue managers that, even though they're a small, unknown band with one halfway- decent CD to their credit, they won't be pushed around.

"There's Troy," said Sex, looking toward the bar and waving over their bus driver, "He's talking to one of the bartenders."

"Might need to find somewhere else to crash tonite," joked Nine, "since I might get cock- blocked outta my apartment. Got room, Ivy?"

Nine is an enigma. One of the best damn keyboard players around, he seems just as content to play by himself as he is with the band. He's just as content to play the harsh tones of Nine inch Nails and Marilyn Manson as he is the soft underbelly of classical concertos. There's no explanation for why he's a part of Valerian's Garden except for the fact that they amuse him.

"I think not," replied Ivy, "Too much to be done for me to distract myself with your tedious, pedantic band- babble."

She looks over at Eli and Angel. "And I think Angel's place will probably be occupied."

Poison Ivy has earned her nickname 'The Manager of Champions' the hard way - by fighting for every ounce of respect that the locker rooms of professional wrestling could squeeze out at her. She handles not only Eli Flair's business affairs, but is now the financial manager for the band. She also likes these people - they're her friends. Her family.

"What?" asked Eli, looking at TJ's amused eyes, "Boy, you're lucky you're picking up this round or I'd have to wipe that smirk off your face."

"You're getting this round," reminded TJ, "Remember?"

Eli pondered this for a moment. "Damn."

Travis Johnson has been a part of this band the longest. He watches over Angel like a big brother - and the fact that he's got the glam rock look about him that intrigues so many people, complete with a killer bassline, doesn't hurt, either. He's the one that the girls all flock to - anyone not drawn in by Angel's haunting words and vocal delivery is done so by TJ's ultra- sexy rockstar pose.

The waitress returned with a tray loaded down to the T with drinks for everyone. She handed them out expertly, and Eli raised his glass to the center of the table. "To Valerian's Garden," he toasts.

"Valerian's Garden," comes the reply, and they all take a drink. Mickey downs his water like a shot, and steps away from the
table to light up a cigarette.

Mickey would tell people that it's out of respect for Angel, that she's one month pregnant, that he doesn't smoke around her unless they're onstage. The truth is, even though he's been all but forgiven for his past sins... he doesn't feel comfortable around these people unless he's onstage, cigarette hanging from his lips, giving them every bit of the badass guitar player he is. He'll stick with this band until the bitter end... but he's doing his penance by feeling like an outsider.

"We gonna do this thing, Eli?" asked Ivy, holding a clipboard full of paper up in his general direction, "You've gotta get
this information down or you might not get in the press release."

"Wait - shouldn't we wait for Tempest?" asked Angel, "Then you could get it all done and send it out as one massive package."

Angel never thought she'd end up here. When Mickey used to hit her, she was already suffering from low self- esteem and abandonment issues from her childhood, but since she met Eli, it's like she's suddenly been hit with all the good luck she's missed over the past ten years. From scoring a pair of opening dates with The Misfits that put her band's name on the map to finding out that not only is she carrying Eli Flair's child, but he is not going to abandon her like she initially
thought... only makes it better.

"Tempest wasn't accepted," replied Ivy, coldly, "Someone made a mistake."

Eli raised his glass once again, "To Tempest, who should be here."

"To Tempest," echoed the rest of the table.

"So what is it they want?" asked Eli, "Blood type? Statement of purpose? What?"

Ivy drops the clipboard in front of him. There's a good three pages to fill out.

"See for yourself," replied Ivy, "This isn't like Ultratititle where they wanted a gimmick name and music - they want facts."

"Why?" asked Eli, thumbing through the sheets, "Are you f'n kidding me? They really want me to fill this thing out?"

"Apparently so," replied Ivy, "You're not just a wrestler--"

"You're a transformer!" interrupted TJ, to the laughter of everyone at the table.

Eli Flair's head is still spinning at the events of the past month. For the first time in his professional life, his career did not destroy a relationship with the woman he loves. Much to his surprise, she's on a very similar career path, and understands, completely, what he's all about.

That's rare. And he doesn't take it for granted.

"You're not just a wrestler," said Ivy, looking sharply at TJ, "you're a personality too. So c'mon, help me out here."

"Who's my opponent, anyways?"

"King."

"Who?"

"King."

"I heard you. Who the hell is he, though?" asked Eli, "That's what I meant."

Ivy flips some papers, shaking her head. "I didn't pull anything on him. I don't have a clue where he's from, hopefully he gets his personality papers in before too long."

Eli takes a long swig of MGD. "Okay, hit me."

"Where did you go to school?"

"Corner bar and grill."

Laughter.

"What?" asked Eli, responding to the dirty look Ivy is giving him, "Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Why not just have some fun with it?"

It's a miracle... but Ivy's cracked a smile. She's the most business-like person at this table, by far, and she
usually takes her business pretty seriously, but she knows deep down, Eli is right.

"Okay," she replied, "Why did you want to be a part of this tournament?"

"It's the next logical step toward my chosen career of porn star."

Everyone laughs at this one, even Angel. She playfully smacks him in the face for good measure, however.

"Moving on," said Ivy, "What is your most celebrated career achievement to date?"

He kicks backward slightly, and rests his feet up on the table. "Now that's a tough one," he said, thoughtfully, "I'd have to say it was a HEW Television Taping in the spring of 1999 where Mason was wrestling Zero for the second time, I think it was."

Everyone looks confused.

"What happened there?" asked Nine.

"A pair of midgets blocked Mason's door off with a zamboni machine and played some Ricky Martin as loud as they could, all the while wearing the jWo colors."

The band looks confused, still, but Ivy's head is down, looking into her lap, laughing very hard.

"I still don't get it," said Nine.

"You're not s'posed to," explained Ivy, "Let me guess - this is just you fucking with them, right?"

Eli shot her a look that told her "yes, it is."

"Perfect," she replied.

Suddenly, Eli grabbed the clipboard out of her hand and passed it back to Mickey, "Here," he said, "Everyone take a question and write whatever the hell you want. Give 'em some fun in their life for a change."

He kisses Angel on the cheek, and motions for Ivy to follow him outside. The bar is getting fairly packed, and he looks like he needs some air.

As the massive KING of EXTREME makes his way to the front door, people are getting out of his way. People in bars are like
the ocean - when one person is moving against the current the rest just kind of ease their way to the side. Imagine the
splash a 6'9" 300 pound man can make. Poison Ivy follows closely behind, hoping to not get caught in the wave as it returns to normal.

"What's up?" asked Ivy once outside. She is dressed coolly in a white tank top, black sportsbra, and a mini-kilt. Still, this is Los Angeles, and she is sweating.

"I just wanted to get ya alone for a second," replied Eli, "and pick your brain on this tournament. What's your take on some of the guys we've checked out so far?"

Good question.

"I really don't know," replied Ivy, honestly, "Some of these guys are incredibly charismatic, some aren't. Some are more skilled at mat wrestling than others. Same shit, different tournament."

"Who do you think will win?"

"Tournaments are always odd," mused Ivy, "They're like battle royals. People are always coming up with a different plan of attack to try and give themselves an edge. It'll be real simple, though. Whoever wins is gonna have to be one lucky bastard."

"Agreed."

"Think it's you?"

Eli ponders the question for a moment. He wipes his sweaty forehead on his 100% cotton "Triple X: Blue Eyed Badass" T-shirt, with some of his hair sticking to it as he pulls away. The door to the bar swings open as a pair of college students - celebrating their graduation - stumble out. As the door opens, Eli catches a glimpse of Angel inside, talking to TJ. She catches his eye, and, as it swings closed... gives Eli a warm smile.

"A year ago, I might've been throwing myself into this with both barrels, and to hell with the consequences," he answered, "but now... I really don't care."

"Is that so?"

"I mean, I'm gonna wrestle my ass off... but win or lose... I'm gonna have some fun with this."

Ivy smiles. He's really grown up in the past few months.

"C'mon, baybeh," she said, tugging on his arm, "We've got more to drink."

~FIN~