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Ninja Blood Explosion : SLAINTE; The Black Birds
Topic Started: Apr 28 2017, 07:43 AM (22 Views)
Minister Wighty
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Opossum Queen of FIW
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"Na, Hikou."

I could've subtitled that, but by now I think you've all figured out what 'na' means. Rebel and her partner have been day-drinking, as the sun shines in brightly on their hotel room from between drawn curtains, and several bottles of dark brown liquid in various states of fullness and emptiness decorate the surfaces. Rebel has kind of collapsed onto her bed, nothing but a pair of black undies below her waist (and I mean, when you're a wrestler that's basically pants, right?), bare feet kicking lazily in the air, and a tumbler of what is undoubtedly whiskey clutched in her hand. She's not even looking at the guy she's talking to.

["When did it become so fucking hard to make fun of somebody for their stupid hobbies?"]

Hikou raises an eyebrow, because his stupid hobby du jour is playing keep-ups with a baseball sized ball and a stick that vaguely resembles an axe.

["Jordan Rayburn is a huge otaku, and he listens to that melodic, weepy, visual kei trash. If we, superior creatures from the land of] exotic Japan [were to insult him, he'd lose his shit and cry so hard he wouldn't even be able to fight."]

I highly doubt that, but you're struggling to take a drink from your glass while laying down, so I can see you have other shit going on right now beyond trying to think of a coherent piece of promotional material.

["See, I say that... but he's probably like...] "No, I'm well hard. I fight a fuck. BLOOD STYLE!" [... or whatever Americans say."]

It's not that.

["... and the other guy. He just skeeves me out. He acts all squirrely, like he's got some kind of big secret or something. I don't think I wanna know the secret, Hikou. I bet it's a gross secret, about his crooked penis or something. Like, because it's bent if he pisses hard enough, he can force it to come out at a 90-degree angle."]

Finished feeding her sheets alcohol, Rebel half-sits up and takes a proper drink, kicking the now-moistened sheets off the bed and onto the floor.

["Whaddayou got?"]

"[Fuck all.]"

Not strictly true. He's got a hurley and a ball.

"[We couldn't get enough footage before...]"

Before..?
 
One of the players from the Dublin County Senior Hurling team lobs a ball up for Hikou Seikai to smash in the general direction of the goal: dead centre but he gets under it a little, and it ends up flying over to the next pitch. Making on camera conversation for this Bit of Cross Promotional Material, his teammate asks the obvious question.

"'At's not too bad. Where'd ye learn tae swing like that?"

"Did a bit'a baseball in school. 'Fore the [Censored] kicked me off the [Censored] -ing team."

But then the first guy puts his foot in it.

"Baseball? Isn't that like, Rounders for [Censored]"

"Huh?"

But the snickering tells him all he needs to know. Someone at least gets the hurley out of his hand before he can do any damage with it, and the camera drops out.[/color]


We cut back to the room, where Rebel has moved to console poor Hikou, gently rubbing his shoulder while she stares off into the middle distance with her drink.

["There, there. It's probably for the best they didn't let you absolutely murder those men. Rin would have to send them ham baskets or some shit, and then yell at us about how expensive ham is."]

Ham is very expensive. You would think with as much ass as your average farm pig has, ham wouldn't be so pricey. But here we are.

["We can play baseball with the squirrelly man's head if you want. Go all Shohei Otani on his head. Does that sound nice?"]

"[I dunno. Felt like a bit of local flavour, ya know?]"

This is all very un-Hikou like self pity. A thought occurs as he has a glance at the bottle.

"[Although...]"

Rebel's eyes follow Hikou's gaze.

["Local flavor, eh?"]

Her face slants up, but she eventually grabs the bottle, filling her tumbler before handing it off to Hikou.

["This is how a ninja trains; getting piss-drunk and thinking about inanimate objects to batter their opponents with, yeah?"]

"Fuckin' right."

How else are they going to do it? She holds up her tumbler for 'cheers'. Or as they say round these parts:

"Slainte."

Glass taps glass and the two begin their path toward drunken debauchery.
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