Description: The fearsome bearstrocity, Zangief, invades Southtown! He's already battled an old man for the right to have a FOOD, met an up-and-comer, and now it's his time to get some training in! Only then he winds up meeting a fellow professional wrestler, Domino, who turns out to be a fan of the Red Cyclone's! Zangief decides to enter Domino's World Tour in defense of Mother Russia, and the gym-goers gathered 'round are treated to some hype - in true pro wrestling fashion! (sans microphones)
It's late afternoon. The day is coming to a close, and Zangief has had a lot to think about today. For a man who generally tries to keep things simple, today has become disturbingly complex. From wizened old restaurateurs challenging him to fights in exchange for truly delicious food, to young men asking him for help that he couldn't, in good conscience, deny, Zangief has a lot of concerns to work out.
And what better way to work out those frustrations than through a nice, late-evening workout. There are a lot of gyms in Southtown, of course, and Zangief has found one of them. The large Russian has gathered a small crowd... not that he's particularly concerned about it- after all, he is Zangief. He's pretty used to large crowds wherever he goes.
But he's mostly lost in his thoughts right now, because he is lifting a truly obscene amount of weights, loaded up onto a fortified dumbbell... and it doesn't really look like it's taking a lot of his concentration to do so.
Zangief has had a remarkably busy, if not interesting day, whereas Drake "Domino" Vyril has simply been filing forms for his house. He's been out of the country for a while, and paperwork is mandatory for keeping a really nice house! Especially on prime real-estate! So he's been a tad bit behind on that.
In short, Drake's day has consisted of dotting the I's and crossing the T's.
Now that that's been finished and he has some time to prepare for his future matches, Drake has taken the opportunity to hit the gym. Sure, he has a home gym, but sometimes finding sparring partners or training around a group of people can be a nice change of pace. 'Sides, Drake is a social creature. He rather likes being surrounded by people.
Imagine the young supermodel's surprise when there's already a group of people cluttering another individual. Drake, fresh out of the locker room and prepped for a strenuous workout, drifts a little closer to get a better look... which isn't helping much. All he can really see if a forest of spectators, and an insanely massive dumbbell periodically hiking into the air above their heads, only to disappear in the midst again.
Zangief remains lost in thought. It was actually a bit relaxing; Southtown isn't an unpleasant place by any means, but it wasn't Mother Russia. But dumbbells and gyms are almost universal. Sure, his world would be made all the better if the gym was suddenly, viciously attacked by a pack of angry grizzly bears... but given that this is Japan, this is a pretty unlucky turn of events.
With a sudden grunt, just a bit more strain than before, he slots the dumbbell back into place, and stands up. The large man emerging from over the tops of the crowd like some kind of rising mountain of muscle and hair. He grabs his towel, and wipes himself off. Just a little bit sweaty- mainly, really, because of the heat more than anything else. He's not even breathing hard.
Mohawk.
Dome head.
Beard.
HUGE RUSSIAN.
omg zangief
Drake's amethyst eyes widen, and he takes a step or two back, as if the sheer mass of Russian is threatening to bowl him over. For several seconds following this, Drake seems to be frozen.
"I heard he once wrestled an elephant - and won!," murmurs one astonished onlooker as Zangief towels himself off.
"I heard he has laser eyebeams!"
"I heard he once piledriver'd the ground and struck oil!"
"I heard he once ate a kid!"
"Mr. Zangief!," cries a starry-eyed fanboy, voice elevated as if calling up a mountain. "What brings you here to Japan? Are you gonna demolish something!?"
Zangief lets the murmurs roll over him, for the most part. He didn't see the point in denying any rumors... nor did he see the point in affirming them. After all. He couldn't actually shoot lasers from his eyes. But if he just kept quiet about that fact, maybe it would buy him an opening in a fight some day. And that was all he really needed to more than make up for the fact that he couldn't shoot lasers from his eyes. ... He's a little stunned at the accusation that he eats children. But. He covers it quite well, just shaking his head and chuckling, before throwing the towel to one of the people in the crowd at random. That'd make somebodies day.
When he is addressed directly, however, he looms over the fanboy, casting a dark shadow over him before he answers, in that massive, rumbling voice. "Of course!" He booms, "I have come to find worthy challenges, and demolish ANYONE who thinks they can defeat the Red Cyclone! I am going to destroy all comers, and prove the glory of Mother Russia once and for all!"
Towel flying. People squeal. You'd think a bride just threw the bouquet.
The damp material spreads in the air and drapes over an unsuspecting passer. Said passer is promptly tackled by several other patrons for the sake of the souvenir.
This cuts a path through the crowd, allowing Drake to regard Zangief more directly. And finally, the teen seems to find his voice. "H-hey," he says, voice elevated in the hopes of being noticed. "You're.. really Zangief, aren't you?" His head turns aside slightly, expression becoming a touch more rueful. "Not some look-alike faker?," he asks.
Zangief whirls around, and looms over Drake. Taking the boy in... he's /sure/ he knows that face from somewhere. But he can't remember where for the life of him. He isn't really the best with faces, or with names. And he hasn't really been following the circuits for a little while. Still... his brow knits. That was going to annoy him. Where did he know this young man from?
"Yes. I am Zangief. The Red Cyclone." He rumbles, bringing both his arms up, to demonstrate that yes, this is -the- Zangief with a hefty flex.
And then he shakes his head slightly. "Who are you?" He asks, honestly curious. "I am sure... I know your face. Are you a fan?"
Drake steels his spine when Zangief wheels on him, and he observes the flex keenly. Being around photo shoots as often as he has, Drake knows a thing or two abou disguising and enhancing attributes. In this situation? It's.. remarkably convincing. So the rueful smile gradually dissipates until gone completely.
"..Guess you really -are-," Drake says, a touch more awestruck and silent than before.
the youth clears his throat suddenly and attempts to regain a bit of his lost composure. "The name's Vy-.." Pause. He's talking to Zangief. Professional wrestler Zangief. "-The name's Domino. Maybe you've seen me on t.v.? Or heard of me?," he asks, trying, but failing miserably, to not sound completely hopeful.
Zangief pauses for a moment, "Domino." He says, turning it around for a little bit. "Hrm. Perhaps. It is possible." He confesses, nodding slowly. He grins, however. His hardened features splitting into a wide and amused smile. "Aaah. Yes!" He declares, suddenly. After all, even he could tell that the young model would be greatly boosted if Zangief made it clear that he'd heard of him... and he obviously /had/ seen him somewhere. If only he could remember where!
"Domino! It is good to meet you!" He booms, offering one meaty hand for a hearty shake (careful, of course, not to hurt him).
A massive, proud smile spreads over Drake's face. Zangief knows him! Or at least, knows -of- him! This is incredible! The giant mitt is taken into both hands to be given a firm pump - if Drake can even manage to move that hand. "Pleasure's mine, Mr. Cyclone, I assure you!," he replies quickly.
And then Drake tries to reel his enthusiasm in a bit. He has a reputation of being cool-headed and suave to maintain, after all. Or at least to look 'in control' of situations. "Never thought I'd actually -meet- you," he adds, toning himself down a little. "You influenced my style in the ring a little, you know."
Zangief grins, and makes sure he moves his hand up and down in time with Drake's own, "Really!" He declares, chuckling and shaking his head. "Well. I suppose it is only natural that you should try and use parts of the best style in your own!" A little arrogant, perhaps. But... he is the Red Cyclone, Zangief! He really had earned the right to be arrogant. In fact, it was pretty much expected of him.
"So... this is your local gym, Domino?" He asks, sounding honestly interested. "It is a good place. Very ... professional." Well... the gym isn't a bad place. It was basic, compared to some, perhaps, but... Zangief had always preferred the more traditional methods of training.
Not enough bear to be perfect, though.
"Kind'a-sort'a. My -local- gym is in the States," Drake confesses, withdrawing his hands politely. "And I usually train at home, unless I've been cooped up like I have been today, or just feel like finding someone to spar, or want some fresh air, or-"
Drake cuts himself off, eyes widened momentarily. The head drops briefly, and when it raises again, his expression is more serene and pleasant, charming smile worn. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm a fan. To be honest, I was hoping you'd want to represent Russia for my World Tour..."
Zangief seems to consider this for a few moments. Looking down on Drake, he hrms in contemplation. "I see..." He ponders aloud. "Well!" He booms, "If you want to step into the ring with the Red Cyclone, for the honor of Mother Russia, I won't back down!" He declares, grinning widely. "But I should warn you... I won't hold back if you are asking me to represent Mother Russia. You will be going up against the very best of the best! Are you sure you have what it takes?"
Drake's smile turns more cocky. "I'm anxious to find out," Drake challengingly replies. "After all, you'll be facing -Domino-! Not some ring-scrub! So if you don't come at me with everything you've got, you might just find yourself gettin' rolled over!"
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how a pair of professional wrestlers hype up a match.
Drake's right hand lifts, suddenly balling into a tight fist before his face. "I don't want just anyone defending Russia! I want the best it's got to offer!"
"I!"
"Want!"
"The Red Cyclone!"
Drake's fist suddenly thrusts out, index finger pointing, well, up at Zangief's face.
Zangief is just a little taken aback by the zeal with which Domino responds. But, he was actually pretty surprised. There weren't many up and coming stars who would dare to throw down in front of a crowd, without arranging something beforehand. He had to admire the kids guts... but, of course, that wasn't going to save him from getting everything that the Red Cyclone could throw at him when the time came.
Zangief's response is simple. He turns to the crowd, throwing his arms open wide. "You want the Red Cyclone, Domino?!" He bellows, "Well! You want to be careful what you wish for! Because I'm going to give it to you!"
Suddenly, he whirls back around, fist clenched and punched up towards the ceiling. "When I get you in the ring, we're gonna see how many times I have to punch you before the Domino falls!" Oh, that's witty Zangief! Very witty! "I'm gonna slam your head into the ground so often, we're gonna count out the dots on your forehead!" Okay... might just be pushing it a bit far now.
"I'm gonna twist you into so many new shapes, you'll wonder how you haven't snapped in half!" ... And then, just to finish it off...
"THEN I'M GONNA SNAP YOU IN HALF!"
Oh, how truly glorious. All eyes have fallen on the two, and Zangief is giving Drake something he's not had in a very long time - a solid promo to work with. Hell. Yes.
Domino is visibly pumped by the threats, oppositely sleek and trim frame tensed and looking to be on edge, ready to start a smackdown right then and there. "You've never experienced the fury of my blitz style wrestling!," he shoots back, confident smile spreading whilest his amethyst eyes narrow. "You're gonna find out that it's more than just a whole new level of pain - it's a revolution! So you'd best prepare yourself!" Domino steps up to stand chest to.. well.. some torso area, attempting to stare down the massive Russian. "'Cuz you may be huge like a redwood, but I'm gonna rip you apart like a -chainsaw-!"
Zangief growls, eyes narrowed as Drake gets right up close to him, the much larger man has found it... quite difficult, to find the kind of challenge that he so craved in recent years. Most people in his homeland, after all, had learned it was usually a losing idea to go up against him in the ring. ... And the rivalry with Haggar had gone on so long is was practically legend.
And then there was this young upstart, willing to get right up in his face and tell him. /HIM/. How he was going to lose?!
He really had to admire his spirit. And, probably quite unexpectedly, Zangief's features split into a wide smile. Never the best at hiding his emotions, he embraces them fully. The smile... is not a pleasant one.
"BRILLIANT!" He roars, straightening up to loom in all his massive glory over the younger wrestler. "I look forward to getting you in the ring, Domino! You think you know what to expect... but you've only ever -watched- the Cyclone in action! When I get you up there, you are going to see why I am the best wrestler who has ever lived!" He laughs, turning back to the crowd.
"Be sure to watch this one! When I get him in the ring... he's going to see what it means to challenge the power of Mother Russia!"
"Tch!," scoffs Domino, loudly enough to interject. He steps up alongside the massive barnhouse of a Russian and shoots the crowd that doubtlessly well-known roguish smile, fists set to his hips. "This one's the Cyclone's match to lose!," he declares. A thumb is jutted out towards Zangief beside him. "He'll find out like the countless opponents before him that the Total Eclipse means the end! So you'd best watch to catch the crowning achievement in my professional wrestling career, and to see the Red Cyclone get tamed into nothin' but a pink puff'a wind!"
Zangief's amusement only grows, which is probably all the better for Domino at this point. Instead of taking the boy all that seriously, he moves to clap Drake on the shoulder with a loud, hearty laugh. "Puff of wind, eh?" He booms, "Well! Let's see if you still sound so confident after I've got you against the ropes! I'm gonna make sure you live to regret the day you wrote off the Red Cyclone that easily!"
With that, he turns to leave, shouldering his way through the crowd without any difficulty at all, really. He'd need to try and get in touch with his manager and make sure that the match was scheduled properly... he wanted this to happen soon! That's the second interesting young up and comer he's come across who had caught his eye...
He almost felt bad that he'd have to crush him. But he couldn't hold back when it came to defending the honor of Mother Russia!
Log created on 18:15:00 11/05/2008 by Drake, and last modified on 21:34:16 11/05/2008.