Road to Nashville -- GWA Insurrection Role-play board

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

Wow, that was fun� My introduction to the GWA, how appropriate. I suppose I showed Payne just exactly what pain is. Of course, I had to hold back a little� but then he had to go use that damn chair on me. So I made it a little worse. But that still wasn�t anything compared to what Johnson used to do�

A sign flies by in a flash. It reads: Now leaving Missouri. We hope you had a wonderful stay. Please visit again.

I think I�ll decline that offer� I�ve had enough of Missouri for a year.

So I had a good match and now what, they don�t want me in the ring this week? I�m not good enough for a match? I didn�t prove myself enough? Am I not COMMITED enough? One question, Mr. Fury� Did you think that not giving me a match would keep me away from Nashville?

I guess I�ll just have to prove I�m worthy� what do I have to do, attack Ashram fuckin Kenjin or something to get noticed? Well, if that�s what I have to do, I may just do that� maybe that wouldn�t be such a wise idea. I mean, he isn�t the GWA champ for nothing now, is he? That, and do I really want to give those peckers in the Midnight Syndicate a win? After seeing Tempest in action this last week, I�m damn sure he can�t take on Cane and Jackson by himself.

Of course, I could always go for the head honcho himself, maybe beat some sense into Fury.

Of course, that would be a bad idea� he�s the one that signs the paycheck. And of course, they always say, don�t cross the boss. Maybe I can get on his good side, maybe he�ll toss me into a good match next week. Give me a chance I deserve, to get into the title picture� I notice that the only championship that is not being challenged much is the Maximus championship� Hell, that championship belt is so undervalued that they made it the loser�s pride in this weeks match between Crisis and Drakestone� Like either of them deserve a shot at the Maximus belt, let alone get a shot at the Gladiator title. Not after the shows they put on last week.

So the Eagle is the Maximus champion� Joey fucking Jackson. I think the Eagle needs to get his wings clipped soon. I may just have to be the one to do it to him. But that�s for the future.

Next stop, Nashville Tennessee� one question though� why? Does Fury have an obsession with inbreds? Or is it just that those are the kind of people that really are into the sport, that those are the suckers stupid enough to shell out a couple hundred for a pair of front row seats to see a bunch of oversized men beat the shit out of each other?

The driver looks down at his fuel gauge which is ticking on empty. Spotting a truck stop in the near distance, he jerks the car onto the right lane.

Goddamn, I forgot how much gas this thing eats on the road. I just filled it 5 days ago. And I haven�t even gotten paid yet for the autograph appearance I put in at that hick school back there in Missouri. I really don�t want to have to go back there and start breaking legs.

The car pulls off the highway and heads up the off-ramp into the truck stop, pulling up to the main pumps. The driver exits the vehicle, fills it up, and wanders inside to pay for the gas.

Hell, I�m here, I�m hungry� I don�t know how well this truck stop shit is going to feel tomorrow, but it will fill me up now.

The driver pulls out fifteen one-dollar bills, and reaches around in his pockets until coming up with the change. He gives her the money and wanders over to the diner counter.

The waitress gives him a mean look, then walks over and pulls out her order pad.

�Can I get a three-egg omelet, with cheese, four slices of white toast, a side of hash browns, a side of bacon and a side of sausage?�

Observe. Evaluate potential for danger. Detect possible threats. Plan accordingly. Skills Johnson taught us for everyday life. The middle age couple in the corner? Husband/wife cross country truckers, same design on their jackets as the rig out front. Man probably carrying a medium sized pistol, most likely in small of back holster or ankle, most likely a revolver. They won�t start trouble.

Old guys at end of the counter. Veterans. Just want to drink their coffee, eat their toast. No trouble what so ever.

Group of college looking kids near entrance. Probably headed home from college, end of semester. Joking around like frat boys. Doubtful their carrying anything, won�t start trouble but will be quick to defend a bad word directed at them. Don�t look to athletic, but boys will be boys, and they�ll try to fight if it comes to them.

Group of local kids behind me. Yeah, they may seem innocent, but they�re eying up the frat boys. College kids and townies have never got along. More townies than college kids. I wouldn�t doubt them to start trouble. Just typical assholes.

Man at the booth in the way far corner. Looks familiar. And I never confuse faces. Bulge under his left arm, probably a nine milli in a shoulder holster, he has the look of a cop or a fed or someone from the government. Businessman outside, but his eyes are those of a shooter. He�s doing the same thing I am. Observe, evaluate, detect, plan. He knows the drill. He could be a problem� but only for me, not for anyone else. He doesn�t want to rob a truck, start a fistfight or tell stories of years past. He�s on the job.

I really don�t like it when people do that. Makes me nervous. Jittery. I get dangerous when I get the jitters�

The waitress brings out the coffee and an ashtray. She sets it down in front of him, and he looks up with a quizzical expression.

He gives her a quick smile, and pulls out a disheveled pack of Winstons, lighting one up.. He slouches on the stool, still looking around.

Those frat boys can see something is going to go down. They�re looking over the local kiddos pretty well. Dammit. I wanted a nice peaceful breakfast, and I have to wander into this shit.

The local kids, finished their breakfast, get up and walk towards the exit. Walking past the college kids, one local �accidentally� brushes up against one of the college kids, spilling his orange juice all over his lap. In a moment, the college kids are up and yelling.

College kid: �Oh, fuck off� you bumped into me on purpose� you got my juice all over this fuckin sweater...�

Local: �Eat my ass, you damn rich preppy bastard. You college people make me fuckin sick!�

Oh for Christ�s sake� never a quiet moment, is there. Well, I can still break this up before breakfast gets out here� No rest for the wicked, eh?.

The driver gets up off the stool and ambles over to where the two males are staring each other down. He walks up next to them, and just stands there. He dwarfs the whole lot of them, the tallest one still a good half foot shorter than the driver.

Local: �There will be, if you don�t beat tracks away and let us sort these college shits out.�

Well, I got to give it to the boy� he�s got guts. But he�s also got four buddies backing him up. Nice odds. For me, anyways.

�I really think you should reconsider your decisions here, son� I think it would be a good idea to leave now, and not do this here.�

The driver picks up the glass that the college kid was holding, which is now empty of its contents.

The driver just smiles at him. He continues to smile, even as he squeezes the glass hard enough to shatter it to pieces in his hand, the gloves protecting most of the hand but some shards opening up small cuts, causing a little bit of blood to start to trickle.

The locals back up, then head for the door. The driver pulls his bandanna out of his pocket and wraps it around his hand, then sits down back at the counter, the eyes of all the diners watching him. The waitress brings out the food, which he eats in a hurry, stuffing it down. He finishes the meal, then waits for the bill. When it comes, he slaps down a twenty without looking. The waitress looks at him strangely.

She shrugs, takes the money, and goes back about her business as the driver exits. The local kids, who are still waiting outside, give him a wide berth as he walks by. He stops, and turns to look at them. They promptly turn away and begin to shuffle their feet, headed away from the diner. The driver shakes his head, then gets in his car and starts off.