The Dark Dragon is well past his heyday as a pro wrestler, working the amateur circuit, breaking in the new kids. So, it's no wonder he's suspicious of this Alex kid, who wants to write a retrospective on his not so spectacular downfall. He gets a free meal out of the deal, though, so he goes along with it, and gets more than he bargained for. These two are ready to do more than rumble.
It wasn't exactly Monday Night Raw. This was not huge arena, there were only a couple hundred screaming rednecks instead of thousands. There was no professional announcer singing out, "Are you ready to rumble?"
There was, however, a former WWF, or WWE or whatever, superstar in the ring, smashing down off the top rope on some poor slob who looked like he wasn't even old enough to shave, so new that every time the Dark Dragon hit him he squeaked like a bad vinyl car seat.
Alex had seen the guy called the Dragon once before in person, when he was doing a feature for World Wrestling Magazine, covering a big-assed event. He wasn't writing about the guy then, was writing instead about his smiling, gold lame opponent, who was the good guy to Dragon's bad. Alex liked the bad guys better.
Which was why when he was offered a 'where are they now?' assignment on this particular bad guy, Alex said sure. Why not? Which was also why he was in east Texas, in a tiny wrestling arena with a bunch of sweaty guys who stank of beer and cigarette smoke and bloodlust.
When the match ended with a pin by the Dragon and a lot of flexing and growling as the victor pranced around the ring, Alex was relieved. Time to head backstage and wait for the big guy to head for the showers, pop out at him unexpected like. That usually kept them off balance enough to agree to an interview.
Alex flashed his press pass at the guy guarding the back arena area and slipped into the recessed doorway of the dressing rooms, figuring that was the best place to lay in wait. He had about five minutes if the sound of the crowd was any indication and he pulled out his PDA, making a few notes, listening with half his attention for footsteps.
"You've got to stop wincing before I even hit you, Fly. You make us both look bad out there." The voice was low, rough, growly like the man had smoked too hard too long.
"Sorry, man. You're just so fucking big." The kid sounded like what he was. A kid, with a high pitched voice and an apologetic tone.
Alex snorted and stepped out of the shadows. "I bet he says that to all the guys."
"Who the hell are you?" He didn't miss the way Dragon stepped in front of the kid.
That glower was hella effective, but Alex was used to that kind of shit, and he smiled, but only a little, not wanting to look smarmy. The yellow eyes the guy sported made it worse, but he'd get over it.
"I'm Alex Vilnov. I'm a writer. I'm doing a piece for Legends of Wrestling. I was wondering if I could buy you a beer or something?"
The strange eyes looked him up and down and then the big guy snorted. "Legends of Wrestling. You're a little lost, aren't you?"