A Mauler's Introduction [Brogan Duffy]
Jun 25, 2023 18:06:08 GMT
Post by Brogan Duffy on Jun 25, 2023 18:06:08 GMT
A Mauler's Introduction
#1 CONTENDERSHIP: GRBG TITLE
TRIPLE THREAT MATCH
Brogan Duffy vs. Persona Non Grata vs. Harvey Francis
RAZOR WRESTLING EPISODE #7
Sunday July 2nd, 2023
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
10:00 PM, Saturday, June 24
Tipsy McStagger's Irish Pub
Las Vegas, NV
It's a rowdy night at the shittiest pub on the Strip. The lights inside are drowned out by the bright broadcasting of TV screens and neon signs for cheap Irish beer as some traditional reel plays faintly on some speaker. A number of patrons flock to the bar trying to build up liquid courage to spend boatloads of money at the casinos down the way while others drown their losses and sorrows in liquor. Before long, a dispute arises between two degenerates that quickly spills into a brawl. Glasses shatter, some chairs and stools break, and swears and screams float above all as the fight drifts out the door and into the street, leaving a few to wallow in the mess they left behind. For one attendee, however, this was just the sort of entertainment they needed. Sitting in a booth in the back of the pub, a few empty bottles of Magner's and a shillelagh on the table in front of him, is Brogan Duffy.
He lets out a delighted chuckle before having his attention be taken by one of the TV screens. A brief recap of the last episode plays, including highlights of his match with Masaru Shinja. The broadcaster speaks over the clips, noting the heinous assault with a shillelagh as especially cowardly. The Bastard rolls his eyes and start to speak, seemingly to anyone who can hear.
"So I reckon some of you are expecting an apology from me or something for what I did on the last episode. Y'know, threatening to hit an old man, breaking his protégé in front of an audience, all that sort of shit. For the record, the only thing I regret is not busting Ebra open with my shillelagh before wailing on the old man. The two of them needed to be taught two valuable lessons in that moment. Lesson Number One: you don't stop me from doing what I want in that ring. Lesson Number Two: You don't event step foot in that ring with me unless you're looking for a proper beating."
He finishes off a bottle with a little liquor still inside, savoring the taste of it and with a refreshed exhale, he tosses the bottle onto the floor. The shattering of glass causes a few of the remaining customers to flinch as Brogan goes on.
"Shinja learned that second lesson the hard way, and you know what? We're all the better for it! Hell, I know I am; my debut match ends with victory and I'm already in line for title contendership. All I need to do to claim it is go through a masked man with his own weird Chewbacca thing and some cracked-up kid from Ohio. Honestly, seeing this offer had me asking myself one question... is this a fucking joke? This is seriously the best that they could line up for a number-one contender match; some brooding second-generation hack and a guy who got lucky and barely made it through some trailer trash like Daisy Duke? Look, I'm not one to shy away from a fight but you might as well just call the bout before it can even start and give me that contender spot!"
He flings another bottle at the floor, this time with more force as his words cause him to sigh.
"Let's make some things clear right here and now, because I am certain there are a number of people who doubt me; I'm not in this position because I'm friendly with the bookers and management, I'm not here because I have connections with the people at GRBG, I'm certainly not here because of the fans - I don't give a shit what any of those dumpster Vegas people think. I'm here for the same reason that I'm going to become your number-one contender - the same reason that I'm going to give Murder Ninja a run for his damn money - because of the three of us, I'm the realest fucking fighter in this match. I don't need a mask to do the shit that I do and not feel guilty about it or some Build-a-Bear abomination to be my back-up or to be the student of some has-been deathmatch wrestler that no one gives a shit about to be the magnificent bastard that I am!"
One more bottle leaves his hand, this time smashing into the back of a depressed customer's head, resulting in their head slamming forward onto the old wooden table in front of them. Brogan freezes for a moment before a shit-eating grin works its way onto his face, un-phased by the looks from the bartenders telling him "You need to leave."
"And that is going to be made absolutely clear on July 2nd. It's a triple threat, meaning that disqualifications are off the table and I won't have to worry about some squeamish pussy of a referee trying to get in my way. And if you think you've seen the extent of what I am willing to do to claim victory... well, you haven't seen a damn thing."
Duffy quickly grabs his shillelagh from the table and scoots out of the booth. The crunch of glass can be heard under his boots as he walks over to the now unconscious man, the back of his head cut open from the shards of glass as blood trickles down onto the table. The Bastard pats the gentleman on the shoulder.
"There's a reason they call me the McLean Avenue Mauler back home, after all..."