PROMO: ...And Introducing, Archibald Griffon!

[A Happy Medium 0]

“This is a bit more diverse than Iowa.”

 

“You know, Archie, that’s why I love it here.”

 

San Francisco, California, the night before Lockdown airs from The Cow Palace. Arch Griffon sits at a table in a local bar, nursing a glass of Crown Royal. He wears a pair of generic new balances, a pair of oversized jeans that don’t cut off circulation to his massive thighs, and an old, yellow vintage Epcot Center t-shirt. Across from him sits his older brother Patrick, who is nursing a screwdriver, and dressed in a business suit.

 

“Are you gay, Patrick? I don’t really care, I mean, you’re still my brother.”

 

“Nah, I just have good fashion sense. I fucking hate Barbara Streisand, so do not worry, I’m still batting for the “right” team.”

 

Patrick makes sure to use his index and middle fingers to quote what the right team is. Arch’s brother is much like himself, with broad shoulders, and red hair. He is just not quite as built as his kid brother. The two of them laugh a stomach clutching laugh, as Streisand is always open to jokes. Archie then reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a pack of Camel Turkish Gold cigarettes along with a generic Bic lighter.

 

“You can’t smoke in here, Archie. And a lot of outdoor areas as well.”

 

“Good thing you told me about this, I was about to ask for an ashtray, or use the half full salt shaker in front of me. Wasn’t this place supposed to be liberal.”

 

“Yeah, but’s also trying to be clean and shit. Why are you still smoking?”

 

Archie takes a small sip of his whisky, letting it smoothly coat his throat with its burning properties.

 

“I like it. If you took it up, you’d understand. But don’t start, it just makes you have to field questions like these.”

 

Patrick looks Arch dead in the eye.

 

“What about your stamina? Smoking isn’t good for heavy breathing.”

 

“Hasn’t bothered me yet.”

 

A lie.

 

Arch easily ran a seven minute mile in high before he started smoking in college. He now runs an eight minute mile, and coughs up phlegm for twenty minutes afterwards. On the other hand, time doesn’t help things, either. And neither does eighty pounds.

 

Archie puts the smokes and lighter back into his pants pocket, and behind him, an imaginary anti smoking Gestapo back off with their fiber wires and chloroform hankies.

 

“Forget about smoking, Pat. What about the way old Dad would act if he ever stepped foot in this city?”

 

“He chews tobacco. He would fair pretty well. But, yeah, he and his homophobic mind may have a big culture shock. Hey, remember when we were in high school, and Dad came to a play rehearsal? We were doing some God awful that made you dress in drag and play a woman? Remember Dad’s reaction?”

 

“Yeah, I think he thought I was turning gay, so he made me quit and go into wrestling. I have no idea where he got his logic in that one.”

 

“Indeed. Rolling around on mats with sweaty guys wearing tights is manly compared to doing a Sam Sheppard play.”

 

Arch and Pat look down into their drinks for a moment, enjoying some comfortable silence between brothers. Finally, Archie makes an obvious statement.

 

“This drink cost me ten dollars. That’s a rip-off.”

 

“Mhmm!”

 

“I was doing a show in Dallas one time, and after the show I decided to get drunk and crash at my motel room. So I walk to a liquor store and buy a seven hundred-fifty milliliter bottle of this same beverage. It cost me only twenty bucks with the badass little bag they put it in.”

 

“And a blowjob from an escort girl costs half of what it costs here, right?”

 

“I haven’t managed to find time for that yet. And should I pay when I could find some ring rat that fucks SWF guys as a career?”

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a big star now! Wrestling for the TV and such.”

 

“It’s true. Fuck off. And this song in here right now is perfect for our conversation.”

 

Pat looks up into the ceiling, trying to decipher the music.

 

“Billy Joel?”

 

Arch nods accordingly.

 

“Captain Jack will get you high tonight! And take you to your special island!”

 

“Stop it Archie. I’m not listening to you recite another Billy Joel song!”

 

Arch stops as his brother and a lot of the patrons in the establishment stare at him.

 

“So yeah, I’ve got my first match tomorrow.”

 

“Against whom?”

 

“Since when were you knowledgeable?”

 

“Children, Uncle Archie. I told them about you wrestling for the SWF now.”

 

“You let them watch our fucking show?! They’re eight and six! We shouldn’t even be allowed to have a TV-14 rating!”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I turn them away when bad things come on, and plus, the censors do a good job.”

 

“I really hope I don’t have kids while I’m wrestling.”

 

“Heh. So who are you facing?”

 

“Some angry Arabian guy.”

 

“My kids hate him.”

 

“Then his character works, but I’ve heard he’s unproven at best. I should debut well.”

 

“Can I let my kids watch?”

 

Archie quickly downs the rest of his, fights back a cough, and then responds.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Can I trust you not to get too violent?”

 

“I can’t promise shit and you know that.”

 

Archie sucks his lips in and grinds his teeth, unsure of himself.

 

“I’ll give it my best shot, but I can’t promise anything.”

 

Patrick also finishes his drink. Nodding as he does. His younger brother then stares off into space for a moment, letting the whisky warm him up nicely.

 

“Pat, what time is it?”

 

“It is…six o’clock.”

 

“I have to get going. Need to go meet up with some people and then find a gym.”

 

“And I need to get home to the family. Lets rock.”

 

The two men throw down their tabs and a generous tip. They both rise, and take a second to get their legs under them. They grab their coats from their chairs, and advance towards the door. After getting outside, Patrick looks off into the distance, then quickly looks back at Arch.

 

“Can I have a smoke?”

 

Arch looks at his brother, annoyed.

 

“You smoke?”

 

“Only when drinking. So really, I don’t.”

 

Arch, irritated, reaches his cigarettes, and hands Patrick one.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Patrick. Either you smoke or you don’t. And you better not take two drags and put it out.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

Arch lights up both of their cigarettes. Patrick immediately inhales on his cigarettes, then coughs out a plume of smoke. Arch doesn’t inhale the butane smoke, but then swiftly takes in an uncontaminated puff. He looks over out his social smoking brother.

 

“Word of advice, Cowboy. Don’t take smoke into your lungs as you light it. It doesn’t taste very good. And I need to start walking. I’ll call you after the show.”

 

Patrick coughs again.

 

“Be safe, Archie.”

[Toxxic 0]

Some background, a bit of character... it's all good. The next questions that need answering are why he kept doing this if his dad forced him into it, and why the steroids?

[muzz 0]

I'm dissapointed his first name isn't Lando.

[A Happy Medium 0]

..You gotta give up the toad now...woo ooh ooh!

[Ace309 0]

You're so much better than anyone gives you credit for.

[A Happy Medium 0]

Aw, Tom...don't flatter me...or make fun of me.

 

Yeah...