Description: Drake Vyril is a huge fan of professional wrestling. He tends to favor big name people in sports entertainment. So a hawt valet like Poison would certainly get his attention, right? Totally. In fact, Drake's something of a fan. ...Joke's on him, right? At least Poison gets an ego boost out of it all. Sit back, laugh, and when it's all said and done, just imagine how in a few years from now, Drake will still be in therapy.
What a complete shambles this little venture has been. Domino, professional wrestling superstar, semi-fresh face to the fighting world, goes out to experience the various flavors of the world, and this happens. He gets accepted to stay at the gloriously historic Bulguksa Temple, and he's tracked down and attacked by Splinter Cell. In the end? Bulguksa gets damaged, on account of Drake and the hospitality of the monks.
Talk about a blow to a guy's conscience.
Only recently permitted to meander around after the confrontation with his firearm-toting assailant, Drake is doing everything he can to raise money for the temple's repairs. He's been prohibited from any physical labor, even though cosmetically he looks fine. But with the expectation of the Tour match just on the horizon, it's been insisted to him that he needs to heal up completely by then. So instead helping with the labor? Drake's... signing autographs.
There's a problem with this. Only two types of people usually come to Bulguksa Temple; pilgrims and tourists. The tourists generally aren't too keen on hiking out there to take a gander at a damaged relic until it's repaired. The pilgrims? They're not the sort to idolize the supermodel wrestler.
Drake has seen very little action today as such. What autographs he did sign, complete with donation, were done with a quiet, introverted wince. Really, the idea that the damage here is in essence his fault isn't making it easy to put on a bright smile and play up fame for fans. Fortunately, he's in a lull of signatures right now. The present pilgrims are here only to meditate as best they can while workers fix the place up. So Drake is simply walking the courtyard, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants and amethyst gaze affixed ahead. He doesn't really -see- anything, though. Just aimless distance.
Satellite phones are wonderful things. "Yes sir, Mr. H -- no, I'm doing a little sightseeing. What? Yes, of course I'll be there on time. How dare you. No, really, how dare you -- I /am/ serious, and I am a /professional/. So? I have needs -- like the need to sightsee. Look. When I come back with the briefcase you can eat your words." The tone changes to a more flirty one. "Maybe even off my stomach--"
Poison holds the phone away from her ear and gives it an annoyed look. "Huh. Lost signal all of a sudden, since I know he didn't just hang up on me," she says, to no one in particular. She has a small clutch slung over her shoulder, and starts walking up the steps to the Bulguksa Temple. She doesn't know about the damage -- she just knows that she wants holiday snaps.
Drake simply continues pacing, boots crunching over the soft grass of the landing. He turns to trek back in the opposite direction and subsequently wear down the grass a bit more, when his vision is impaired by boob and the color pink. Immediately thrown off-kelter, Drake gives his head a dramatic shake, then refocuses on the object(s?) that caught his attention. A.. girl.
With pink hair he's sure to see when he closes his eyes the next couple times.
But it's the hair that triggers something in his brain. Well.. the hair -first-. Next is the face, then the body. The outfit doesn't hurt, either. Drake blinks slowly, then squints. He then squints a little more.
Alright, he's openly staring at this point.
Drake's right fist lifts before his mouth, coughing at it awkwardly a time or two.
"H-hey!," he calls to her then, putting on a.. somehow timid smile.
Poison is looking around when Drake calls out to her. She hadn't noticed him before, but when she does, a look of recognition plainly crosses her face. She plays it coy, though, and lets the look come and go swiftly, replaced with a wry half-smile. "Yes?" she asks, turning fully to face Drake, stancing in her usual contrapposto stance, hips cocked. She reaches up and adjusts her hat. "Anything I can do you for?"
'Hell yeah,' says Drake's mind. Drake internally tells his mind to shut up.
"Hell yeah!"
Drake failed.
Immediately after the over-enthused words slip out, he quickly clamps his teeth together, expression cringing a little at himself. He steels his nerves to open his mouth again, once he believes he's shackled his mind into submission. With a camel clutch. "I mean.. you look really familiar. Like, way familiar. You're...," he trails a moment. He's going to hate himself if he gets this wrong, and that's plainly evident on his face. "...Poison?"
"And you're Domino," Poison replies with a wink. She doesn't seem to be fazed at all by his blurted affirmative. "Fancy seeing a famous face here -- I just thought I'd end up with some pictures of some old buildings and stuff." She grins, but only for an instant, and the expression can't help but seem predatory. "Good to know I have fans in high places."
"Aheheh," Drake snickers, sublimely awkward. His right hand rubs over the back of his neck. "Happy to know I'm recognizable! And yeah, kind'a hard not to recognize -you-. You're.. well.."
Drake hitches. Mind is re-shackled.
"-You-! So yeah." Nodding stoutly, Drake folds his arms over his chest. He's determined to chill. Really. "There, uh.. isn't much to see right now. Some guy attacked me and wound up damaging the temple," he admits. And that about kills the mood for him, having said that. He turns to face the ancient structure, frown creasing his lips. "Can't believe I let that happen. Dammit," he mutters under his breath, possibly too low to be heard.
"Well, who else would I be?" Poison asks, resting splayed fingertips on her chest as if in mock exasperation. She listens to the summary of what's happened, though, and her expression turns a note more glum. She turns and peers over in the direction of the temple, holding a flattened hand over her eyes even though she's wearing a hat.
"Well, that sucks," she says plainly. "I'm in town for business, this was the one bit of time I had for play. I don't know /how/ else I'm going to get it filled," she pouts. "My shedule, that is."
"Well...," starts Drake, sounding tentative. He turns around to face her again. "You could stick around for the World Tour match against Dong Hwan. It'll be eld here. Unless the monks tell me different by then."
He pauses, seems to consider something, then begins walking in her direction to close the fair gap still between them. "You still working with Hugo? I've not gotten to see any of that wrestling for a while..."
"Maybe if I've got the time," Poison says, coyly refusing to commit. "And nah, I'm out of wrestling. It was fun, but... I've got other pokers in the fire." She smiles, adjusting her stance from one hip to the other. "Hugo's a sweetie -- he'll be fine. I've gotta look out for me, though, before him."
Drake comes to a stop before her, and looks absolutely crestfallen at her reply. "Oh. That's a real shame," he says, enthusiasm dropped to a degree. "What was the problem? Money? Time?," he asks. "Better offer somewhere else? Just sucks, since it totally seemed like your element."
"Who says there was a problem?" Poison says through her cunning grin, giving her voice a coquettish spin, like the line of questioning were somehow amusing her. "I just found something else that's worked out better -- and before you ask what, a girl's got to have /some/ secrets, otherwise all the /fun/ dribbles out, hmm?" She giggles.
"Oh. Well, feh. I hope it didn't start boring you or something. That'd suck hardcore," Drake says. "Cuz if -that- would bore you, don't imagine -I- would be all that interesting. And I'd love to think that I am." Finally, Drake gives a mirthful, comfortable grin. "Anyway, would'a been nice having you back at the home fed'. Sure you would've electrified the crowd."
"Aw, that's cute," Poison says, reaching out to brush Drake's chin with the barest hint of fingertips. "I'm sure I would have, too. I'd have them eating out of the palm of my hands." She brings her hand back, bending her arm with a wicked smile and holding the fingertips she just used to her lips.
The touch draws Drake's attention rather effectively, amethyst eyes widening, then looking down at the hand, then back to her face. "Yeah, well.. I can't see'em resisting much." That said, Drake clears his throat and turns to face the temple. "Well! Still keep in contact with Hugo? You should tell him to apply for Germany. Defend his homeland in the World Tour. It'd be pretty awesome to fight him."
The eyes keep darting to the side, stealing glances at her.
"If I get a chance, maybe I'll send him word about it," Poison replies, remaining elusive as she giggles again, watching Drake clear his throat and look somewhere else. She's got her eyes on his, watching them dart back toward her. "Could always just go for some kind of exhibition, too. Domino versus the huge, scary Hugo Andore... I dunno, you'd be a bit of an underdog from size alone."
"Hey, I pinned Birdie," Drake brags, fully expecting her to know who he is. "I like the David-versus-Goliath matches. I win, the crowd loves me. I lose, the crowd's sympathetic. It's great." Apparently either too fidgety to stay in one position, or unable to really keep his attention elsewhere, Drake turns to face her fully again. "Wouldn't mind getting -you- in the ring sometime, at that," he challenges boldly, a sly smile edging over his lips. "But I dunno if I ever actually -saw- you wrestle."
"Oh, I'm not much for technical wrestling, although I can definitely see the appeal," Poison says, licking her lips at just the right moment, "of a bit of... grappling on the mat, with all kinds of exotic holds." She grins again. "I'm more... hardcore than that, if you know what I mean."
"I do more than just lockdowns," Drake says. "But.. if you know who I am, you should know about my blitz-style of wrestling anyway." The sly smile remains on his lips though, spurred on a little by her choice of words and, indeed, the fairly obvious implications. Really, nothing about this girl seems to be subtle. Not that Drake minds.
"So you, like.. use baseball bats and chairs?," he asks finally. "The halogen lights and stuff? ..Really?"
"I don't think I've ever taken a baseball bat," Poison says. "But maybe someday, if the right cards get played." She puts her hands on her hips, and chuckles. "It's what I know -- I used to brawl on the streets and so if I ever make a go of it in the ring I'll probably brawl there, too."
"Some wrestlers do. There's different styles. But you probably knew that already. I don't think it much matters in the world anymore, so long as the match ends with a submission or pinfall," Drake concurs. "Just between you and me, though? I don't go for the barbed wires'n crap. I like looking like a person too much." A cheeky smile is flashed at her then. "Don't tell anyone."
"Mm. I dunno if I'd go for barbed wire," Poison says, propping a fist under her chin to think it over, or at least make a gesture like she's doing so. "After all, everyone's got to have limits /somewhere/."
"See, here I was about to say you're more hardcore than me," Drake says, voice lilting in a tease. "But you had to go'n say that. Ahwell." It's now his turn to wink at her. "Still, I'm not sure I know what'cha mean in full."
"Barbed wire is just so... not... very fun looking," Poison says, waving her hand around as she tries, and fails, to come up with an eloquent way of putting it. "I mean, who likes being thrown around by a man just to land on all those little pricks?"
Drake opens his mouth to comment, then closes it again. His expression turns a little odd, becoming tight-lipped and pensive. Finally, he says, "Doesn't sound fun, no." And then? He struggles to not laugh at her analogy. Sure, his youth could be showing through with that.. but come on. COME ON.
"But, ah.. yeah.. I mean with what you -prefer-. What kind'a hardcore matches are you talkin'?," Drake asks once he's under control.
"Oh, you know, like the good old days," Poison says. "Getting good and sweaty trading blows. No count-outs, no holds barred. No stopping just because someone's reached the ropes. Just two people absolutely /going at it/... until one's too drained to continue." She winks.
Is everything she says an innuendo? This, like last time, gets that strained look from Drake. Only now it's very, very obvious he's trying to keep from laughing. "Yeeaahh, I get what'cha mean. I could maybe go with that.." His head tilts slightly. "Could be interesting." Letting the thought take him as it will, he gives her a fairly shameless once-over, starting with her face and trailing down to her heels, then back up to the face again. Or, well, the hat. The hat is eye-catching. "Do you do that professionally, or for kicks?"
And no sooner has he said that than he realizes how that might have come out. Ah, dammit.
"Hmm?" Poison asks, content to let Drake squirm as she cannily smiles.
"The matches!," Drake is quick to clarify. "I meant the matches! You know, you wrestling someone. Do you do that for the heck of it, or are you a part of a fed' for yourself, or..?"
"Well, now I suppose it'd be for the heck of it," Poison says, grinning. "Like I said -- I'm out of wrestling. If I'm not doing it to get paid -- well, then I suppose I must be doing it for fun."
"And that's just fine," Drake says, similarly quick.
Of note, Drake's cheeks are utterly ablaze.
"So.. -anyway-, can I ask you for something totally random and lame?" His head turns aside, giving her a tentative, side-eyeing look.
Poison shifts her weight and smiles. "Sure," she says. "Long as it's not /too/ lame."
Drake observes the weight shifting. 'Nuff said. "Mm'no promises," says Drake. He fusses with the idea for a while, then retrieves a small pad from his pocket. From the other pocket, his hand fetches a pen. "I just thought getting your autograph would be awesome. You really were the hawtness of t.v. when I got to see ya," he says, sounding a little more meek and, well, his age.
Poison giggles. "Aw, you're flattering me," she says with almost a purr at the recognition. "Sure. Give it here." She takes the pad and the pen, thinking a moment, pen pressed to her bottom lip, before writing: 'Hope I was half the hotness in person, cutie. XOXO Poison Kiss'
The cheeks redden again, and he offers the pad and pen out. As she deliberates, the supermodel becomes uncharacteristically bashful, hands linking behind his back and rocking on his heels slowly as he waits. When it's handed back, he examines the signature and note. His eyes slowly lift from the writing to look across to the pink-haired girl, wry smile playing on his lips. "Even moreso," he replies flirtily.
Poison fans herself, grinning. "My my. Being charmed by the famous Domino. I don't know if I'll be able to resist."
"You're a regular peach, aren't'cha?," Drake asks, smile broadening. The pad and pen are set back into his pockets, and he lifts his left hand to very gently slug her shoulder. "Think you'll stick around for the match? I could use some additional hotness in my corner," he suggests. "I might not be huge and shaped like a refridgerator like Hugo, but..."
"I might be working, I'll have to see," Poison says, touching a finger to her chin in though. "In fact, I should probably get back to business, since it's a time-sensitive kind of gig -- but if I can't make the match, I'll be sure to make the afterparty. And if there's no afterparty, well, we'll have to make the afterparty." She grins.
"Count on it," Drake says. "I won't be hard to track down, if you don't catch me before I leave Korea. The Tour's being advertised in as many places as I can manage. Just.. show up. Flag me down. I'll make time." His hands set to his hips briefly, then the right hand extends out to her. Rather than offering a handshake, the palm is turned up towards the sky. "Sound good, hot-stuff?"
Poison tags out of the conversation with a high-five, grinning at Drake. "Sounds good, hot stuff." She winks again, and turns to walk back toward the main road. As she takes out her phone to call for a cab, she makes sure to put a little extra wiggle in her walk -- since she knows Drake will be watching.
Log created on 20:41:27 09/20/2008 by Drake, and last modified on 01:09:04 09/21/2008.