Promo: A New Friend.

[Guest Insanityman]

desperation and stir/blend until your desire.

---

 

(In Philly, Pennsylvania it was a mild climate day. September 11th also proved to be a busy day, as people began to rush to their places of interest. A couple was sitting on a bench, snuggling with each other as they read out of the same newspaper remembering last year’s tragedy. Yet one man in the throng was slowly taking his time, that man being the JL’s very own Tim Dillon… generic Irish man specialist. His stride has a certain bounce to it as he stops at a small bar. Tim pushed open the door slightly and slowly stepped in. The air was musky with the smell of beer and cigarettes and Dillon grinned).

 

Add some rain and I’m nearly home. He thinks contently to himself.

 

Tim slowly strolls towards the bartender as he passes a guy teaching his soon-to-be girlfriend to play pool. Dillon plops down on the barroom’s stool as he observes the room. Off white walls with wooden paneling at the bottom, neon beer brands and his eyes then wander to checking out the girls. He grins as he spots a cute girl looking to be around his age or younger. The women’s eyes dart towards him and Tim peels them away, embarrassed. As he’s sure that the women’s eyes are diverting back to her mediocre looking friends his eyes fix back on her. Around 5’7” he guessed, faded blue jeans pants with white sneakers and his eyes then fix on her ample chest. She wore a black tank top showing a tasteful amount of cleavage. His “prey” turned her head again and Dillon quickly swiveled his body towards the bartender’s domain. Dillon looked at the taps and the large selection. The bartender (watching CNN) suddenly turns around, portly and a sore sight for the eyes, he waddled over.

 

“Whatcha’ want?” He asks as his spit was flung at the people. Dillon disgusted paused as he wiped his hands on his white, smeared apron.

 

“Guinness.” He replied and the bartender looked at him oddly. He was wearing his normal ring attire, minus the shamrocks on the cargoes though.

 

“Foreigner?” He asks with respect.

 

Tim’s eyes shut as he collects his memories of Ireland, “Yup, Ireland.”

 

The bartender nodded as he shuffled over to the beer mugs and he got Tim’s orders. Dillon took the chance to take another glance at his select choice, who was laughing at her table as she swirled the straw of her drink.

 

Amazing teeth. Dillon thought to himself, but he’s awakening by the slam of the beer mug and the splash of the beer onto his bare arm.

 

“Sorry!” The bartender begs as he grabbed a napkin, knocking over another custom’s vodka shot. As the clumsy man returns with a brown napkin Tim wipes everything up as he replied, “Cheers.”

 

The bartender, who had an odd look on his face the whole time, eyes light up. “Your Tim Dillon!” He exclaimed and Tim’s eyes shot up from the focus of the brim of his drink.

 

A nod, “Guilty as charged.” He replies, flashing a dazzling white grin.

 

“Oh damn! One on the house!” The bartender insists as Tim claimed it’d be alright.

 

“Rank hath its privileges…” Tim mutters and he grins as he downed the rest of his drink. The bartender (with extra care) gently placed the mug in front of him as he always bombarded Tim with a napkin and pen.

 

“All that’s with me!” He explains, obviously excited.

 

God forbid he meets MacPhisto or any WF’er. Tim thought to himself, as the man was excited for him.

 

Dillon carefully signed the napkin and passed it back courteously as he chugged the rest of his beer. Tim then got off the stool and began to stretch his back a bit.

 

“Good luck on that match!” The bartender cried out as Tim Dillon was near the exit, Tim spun on his heels and walked back over slowly… he hadn’t read the card yet.

 

“What’s my match?”

 

“You don’t know?” The bartender questions, dumbfounded, Tim shook his head no. “Tables, Ladders, Chairs, and Canes match.” He said simply.

 

As if it was a cartoon Tim’s mouth dropped. “W-wi-with who?” He sputtered, stuttering in fear and excitement.

 

“Thor! Versus Mike and Fugue, it’ll be great!” The bartender gave Dillon encouraging thumbs up. Tim collapsed into a Gaelic spasm as he begun to head out the door again. He paused and took another glance at the girl and he gulped.

 

Making his final decision he slowly struts over to the table as all her friends take notice first looking at the attractive man. “’Ello, do you know what time it is?” He asked as he ran a hand through his nearly white hair. One of the girls squealed and the other two fumble to check their watches. The girl Tim had been eyeing turned around in her chair, unfazed by anything of Tim and simply answered, “5:27.” Her voice was soothing and had something nice to it.

 

Tim flashed a grin as his hands went into his pockets, and he slowly began to rock on the heels of his feet and back. “Damn, I’ve missed my usual supper.” Another squeal from the first girl, and the least attractive of his target's friends.

 

“Sorry to hear.” The girl muttered back as she went back to her drink. Tim swore under his breath and he slid his hand into his pocket to fish out his wallet. He was getting very desperate. He slowly took out a crisp twenty and flung it on the table.

 

“On me.” He explains as he sighs loudly and began to walk away. He turned around as the wooden chair scrapped against the floor. The girl stood up and strutted over, their eyes locked.

 

“Desperate, aren’t you?” She asked, taunting him.

 

“Very.” He said with one his biggest grins he’s ever had. A chuckle.

 

The girl liked something about the man, she couldn’t quite tell what, but she liked him. “Fine, I’ll give you a trail run.” The girl said with a giggle.

 

Tim grinned as he strains every muscle of his body not to bust into a celebration jig.

 

“You have a ride?” She asked.

 

“Nah, I was in the area… so I walked.” He said and she finally predicted that he’s Irish.

 

Tim then retrieved his silver flask with the gold chain holding the top, and complete with the engraved Irish flag and family crest. “Want some?” He offered.

 

“You’re trying to slip me a mickey!” She protests and Tim had a look of truly being hurt, “Oh. I’m sorry.” She muttered. The girl declined anyways and she threw back her luscious brown-blonde hair (that went down just past her neck). Tim shrugged it off as Tim offered his arm out and she took it as the two strolled away and the girl turned her head back to her friends showing a huge grin.

 

Mission accomplished. Tim concludes in his head as he glanced down at his, hopefully, soon-to-be girlfriend.

 

(Somewhere in Afghanistan, Insane Luchador had grown out a dirty black beard as he carried “Rex” in his left arm. In the blazing heat he looked down at his unfolded map clutched in his right hand. He slowly counts the number of steps and he asks Rex a question, “Has it been ninety steps?” No reply, “Dang-nab-it… must still be out from the heat stroke.” He concluded. He then turns his head to the left as he sees the mirage of his ex, Jennifer again. “It’s not what it seems!” He insists as the camel rushed towards him upset. The camel then stopped as it head-butted the Insane Luchador dead on in the chest as he was flung backwards. He read hit a rock as he was instantly knocked out).

 

OoC: Timmy seems to have a lass...

[Guest Ace309]

(Y)!!!!!

 

Tim Dillon develops as a character!

 

Andrew Rickmen continues being odd!

 

w00t!

[Guest chirs3]

Girls are the devil, Tom. THE DEVIL!

 

 

...

 

 

What?!

 

And Luchadore just goes further off the deep end... I don't ever want his chronicles in Afghanistan to end.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

I'm liking this new character, skeptical as I may have been. Exuberant promo (with MacPhisto name-dropping! Woo!) with continued IL overseas adventures...there's a strange appeal to all this. Hoo-ahh.

[Guest kelloggs]

IL busting out a promo. Good, solid character building stuff and like the promo said Dillon's got a girl.

 

First MVS and now you... WHO'S NEXT!

 

SPEAR~!