Promo: An old friend, an asshole, and Tim.

[Guest Insanityman]

(Now approaching five o’clock in the chilly air of Raleigh, North Carolina. The weather plays an important role as everyone dashes to get towards their places of interests and get out of the cold. The depressing thought of winter sets a rather glum tone in the area. However, Tim Dillon is sauntering through the streets towards the local pub for a cocktail. He wears a solid blue light jacket and a tweed cap fixed awkwardly to his right side. He finally reaches the pub, as he takes no notice to the name or any details. Mr. Dillon inhales the musty odor, the unmistakable of booze and cigarettes, while a grin overtakes his face. The pub is next to empty and Tim Dillon wonders if it’d be the spot for his match. He prays for it not to be true, as he can’t see any potential of a good match in the rather cramped room. There’s the soft, melodic Irish folk music while the pool balls clash into each other. Conversation is the majority sound to hear and Tim Dillon’s eyes naturally scan the area for girls).

 

Least Candice isn’t with me. She’d be a nervous wreak… Tim Dillon reassures himself. He ordered that Candice would stay at her house with her friends until the next few shows and all the emotions of Dillon settle down. He had a slew of them that combined together to create an indescribable anguish and inner battle for Tim.

 

Tim’s eyes discover a few good looking women, one blonde, a red head, and one raven-haired lady. He finally breathes in and passes all the tables while he approaches the bar. The bartender has his back turned. He’s drying a glass with a white cloth. He turns around only to shock Dillon, and to prove an even greater shock to himself.

 

“Sean!” Dillon cries out, nearly having a bowel movement.

 

Sean’s dark eyes open wide and he runs his hand through his tangled, curly black hair. “Tim.” He nods.

 

“What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you in the god damn IRA?” Tim Dillon interrogates while he unzips and removes his jacket.

 

Sean O’Riley, a boy who had known Tim Dillon from Limerick, was a heavy IRA support and before he even turned twenty he jumped ship. Sean was a rather twisted fellow, his parents killed during a crossfire shooting between an IRA splinter group and the Protestants. Sean, who already was plagued by being a teenager, was torn. What was a boy supposed to do? He joined the IRA to fight for the “glorious” cause of freedom. Tim Dillon and Sean never really cared for each other, and had meet once in the streets for a fight.

 

“Well… I bailed out right before we were meant to charge into Ulster.” He replies his head hung low, ashamed.

 

Tim was at a lost for words and then he sat on the green stool. “Whiskey on the rocks.” He requests, the usual sign he’s serious.

 

“What brings you here?” Sean casually asks as he uses the tongs to spill a few cubes into Dillon’s drink.

 

“I joined the SJL.” Tim says while he picks up his glass that was handed to him.

 

“Wrestling? You?” O’Riley begins to laugh; Tim blushes and then mumbles in Gaelic. Sean’s face scrunches into anger, since Tim had just insulted him. Dillon sips at his drink and swings around in his stool. Tim notices one of the girls approaching him.

 

“Um, eh, hey.” She asks. She was the blonde from earlier.

 

“’Ello.” Tim simply replies. Sean O’Riley looks on with a face of confusion and surprise. In his mind he’s twice the guy Dillon ever could be.

 

The poor girl stumbles for words and Tim has to cut in, “Sorry but I’m taken.” He flashes a grin. He fishes his hand into his pocket and pulls out a five, then offers it to her. “So sorry.”

 

She hesitates and snatches the five then turns around.

 

“Grand.” He replies while she walks away while he contently watches her walk.

 

Tim Dillon then turns around in his stool.

 

“Any luck?” Sean asks referring to the SJL.

 

“I’m the Ireland champ.” Tim replies while he swirls his glass staring at its “sweat.”

 

Sean raises one eyebrow up and then Tim looks up, “I can fight.” Dillon states, defending himself.

 

“Sure you can, of course you can.” Sean replies sarcastically and he turns back around towards drying the glasses.

 

Right at that moment a burly man with a blue muscle t (showing off his very fit body) and “swish pants” as Dillon named them. The man who just sat down pats down his brown hair and then stares at Tim. “Do I know you?” He asks.

 

Tim’s head cocks to the side, “Do I?”

 

The man smirks and he keeps staring, much to Dillon’s discomfort.

 

“Yeah I do know you. You miserable little bugger!” The man suddenly gets anger. The man stands up and shoves one finger into his chest.

 

“You have a problem?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, they chose you instead of me for the SJL! You’ve done nothing!”

 

“…I’m the Ireland champ dumbarse.” Tim quips back but he calms down. “I’m sorry the SJL couldn’t accomadate for one more man.”

 

The man stands to his feet and offers to fight.

 

“No.” Tim sternly says. Dillon was in no mood to fight, he just wanted to think about his match.

 

“Hope Wildchild kicks your ass!” The want-to-be wrestler snickers.

 

“He probably will.” Dillon grumbles.

Tim then tosses the correct amount of change at Sean, and he makes his escape. The man keeps jeering him and then Dillon leaves the pub. His mind torn up with some many thoughts and feelings. Tim was not in good shape. He continues to walk down the street when he’s suddenly struck by a brilliant idea.

[Guest Ace309]

Well, count me in as anxious to see where this is going.

 

And I KNOW a guy named Sean O'Riley.

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Nice promo, Tim. Character development is nice. Make sure to stay the course with this one.

[Guest Goodear]

Good promo if a bit busy with all the exclusive to Dillon characters. I'm not sure where all the anguish is coming from with Tim, but hey... its all good.