Destruction Wrestling Association

Åska sits at a bar enjoying a cold bottle of Sam Adams when a young man in a suit comes stalking in, uncaring of how much he doesn't fit in to the place.

"Gunnar! Gunnar! What do you think you're doing,exactly? Do you realize that you have a tag match on Friday? Have you been to the arena yet?"

The big man nods slowly.

"Yes, Justin. I checked in, papers signed, soul is sold to the devil. Everything's in order. I'm well aware of what I have to do."

Justin shakes his head, his greased back hair doesn't move a millimeter.

"Do you realize the trouble I went to for getting you this job? I helped you find a place here. I helped you get your precious bike here. I got you a pretty damn good contract and all you're doing is sitting here with a bunch of alcoholics getting drunk with them?"

At that last remark, the patrons' ears perk up and they start grumbling. Åska waves them off, takes a last swig of his beer, and hops off his bar stool. He easily towers over Justin like the Sears tower over a kindgergartner. Justin is unfazed. The bigt guy takes his friend aside and speaks to him quietly.

"Look, Just. I got it taken care of. I realize all the trouble you went through, and I'm utterly grateful for it. I wouldn't have hired you as my new agent if I was going to waste my time. I know who I'm going to face: Chicago's Finest. I know my partner's name is Keenan Saint. I'm well prepared for this match, Justin. Trust me, you won't lose anything. I was just taking a break. Maybe you should, too. You work so damn hard, you might as well take a load off. Though, I'm afraid you're shit outta luck, man. They don't have any of your fruity cocktail drinks in here. I'm afraid it's good, old-fashioned  beer."

Justin looks at his charge with a sheepish look on his face.

"I-it's not like I'm some yuppie. I don't always drink cocktails or appletinis."

He pauses for a moment.

"

They got any Guiness?""

Åska laughs and slaps Justin, hard, on the back. Justin even lurches forward with the force of the big man's blow and stumbles forward. Åska doesn't notice.

"Yeah! Now, that's my guy. Jake! Get this man a bottle of Guiness, stat!"

Big Thunder looks over at his agent and smiles.

"If it makes you feel any better, we'll go to the arena after this and we'll meet this Keenan Saint guy. If I'm gonna win this match, I hafta know who my teammate is, right? Just make sure you don't try and outdrink me, man. I'm 7'0" and you're 5'6". Makes a lot of difference. Besides, my ancestors used to do nothin', but drink and fight. So, alcohol is in my blood, literally..."

Justin just laughs and they both have a seat at the bar.

"DWA contract."

"Check."

"Tag title opportunity."

"Check."

"Trusted, unselfish, intelligent tag partner."

"Che-no."

Åska jerks his head down towards his agent. The big man shrugs.

"Ah, well. Two outta three ain't bad."

"Is that all you needed, Åska? I have a phone call to make."

At a nod, the blonde descendant of the vikings dismisses his agent. The man's always on business.

"Jävlar! Keenan Saint, you must be one dumb piece of shit. Look, brother, I can understand you wondering why a guy you've beaten twice was put as your partner. I can even understand why you'd think you might have to carry the team. I make no excuses...my performances have obviously been piss poor as of late. The reasons...personal. Yet, there's something I don't understand..yet, at the same time, I do."

The big man paces around the room. His strides twice that of a normal man.

"You want to win. Badly. In anything you do...be the best. That goes unsaid. I would like to win as well. Yet, what kind of moron literally threatens his tag partner, the man that watches his back, then turns around to the opponent and talks about how you and I are both real. Brother, you don't even know me. You said yourself. The things I've experienced in my life, my background, most people call fairy tales. Whether you think that, that's for you to decide.

Nonetheless. You and I do have a common goal. To win. On that one thing, you and I see eye to eye. That's it. There have been tag teams who've hated each other, yet succeeded greatly. You don't have to be best friends with a man to be a winner. To be remembered. The Abbott brothers couldn't stand Phil Anselmo, but they still brought the house down every time Pantera hit the stage. That could be you and I. I believe we're mature enough to put our differences aside."

Big Thunder stops himself abruptly at that last comment. He smirks knowingly.

"Well, at least one of us is."

The shit is about to hit the fan.

"Mama must have dropped you on your head a lot, or she might not have taught you some common sense. "Saint, as much confidence as you have in your abilities, you don't go around in this business threatening tag partners. One, if you want to win. Two, especially if they're seven-foot; three hundred twenty-five pound men. Especially, those who are descendants of Thor."

Åska grabs a chair, flips it backwards, and sits on it.  He rests his forearms on the top and glares into the camera.

"And you don't talk shotguns to a man with lighning literally in his fist."

On cue, thunder rumbles in the distance.

"Trust me, I won't be putting all my weight on you, because if you try to act on your Napoleon complex you got...all YOUR weight's gonna be on MY back.  Only, then if we can get our tempers in order. Just maybe, JUST MAYBE...we can win. If that happens...Chicago's Finest ain't got a snowball's chance in the realm of Hel. "

Åska turns head, leaning it slightly to the side as he closes his eyes. He clenches a fist in which can be seen glimmers of light shining between his knuckles. His hands shake and thunder rumbles louder than before. A few seconds later, he opens his eyes, calm.

"Come Friday night, I'm focusing all that rage on Chicago's Finest because I really want to win this. Don't let your ego get in the way, Keenan Saint, because if I get in your way...it'll be for more than just pride...and Ragnorak will be like kindergarten recess if that happens. "

Åska shrugs and looks, nonchalantly at the camera.

"Though, I have a feeling it's gonna happen anyway."