"No! I did not know what was going on recently! Nobody tells me anything! And you know what? I agree!" shouted out a gruff wrestler while off stage.
A reporter done up to look really nerdy. Dwayne looked at the glasses--they had went all out to make him a weaselly spineless sort of reporter. Dwayne was in overalls. He was on his way to the dressing room. There were three that had ambushed him on the way here--he took the wrong turn down a hallway, and got unlucky. They continued to pressure him, "are you saying, that neither the genius Krystal or the charismatic Stoenn mentioned anything about this to you?"
Dwayne had to think quickly. He had a few lines he was messing with should this come up--but the previous match had put him on an odd spot. He had won it. He was more one to be a good person, what becoming a father had transformed him as a character and what all. He'd have to fudge it, "look! This is a minor set of play ground brawling. Kid stuff really. Why do you think Krystal is so clever? Why do you think Stoenn is so charismatic? They are trying to be like me. They are taking a few pages off of their dear old Dad. They can play with this sandbox stuff--cause Daddy has got tougher issues to deal with. I mean--yes, it would have been solved in two seconds had they called me, and had me use my patented Spectrum Lock. They decided they would try it themselves."
Another reporter--this one buck toothed and pointed nosed as he appeared to lunge his mouth over to Dwayne, "but--the world could end. Life as we know it could be over! If you really could help, why don't you?"
Dwayne had gotten to his dressing room door, "I have been. See, the world has still been around. Unless it ended without anybody telling me. What have I been doing? I have been doing the best to be a good father! That is what! I mean--I am getting out of my golden years. I may as well make certain that when they are over, I have somebody that can kick as much hind end as me!"
Dwayne thought to himself a bit, good, moved what may have been egocentric into more of a "I am a good Dad who recognises the future generation", lets go with this.
The first reporter lunges in, Dwayne noted they were doing the whole weasel thing a bit too much. "So, is the great Private Dwayne Spectrum thinking about retiring."
Belly laugh time, Dwayne lets out a gruff laugh, "ha! Me! Retire! They will have to chain me into my coffin to keep me away from the ring! And, when I take on Muscle Raw 1986, it will be the best show that you have all seen. It will rock your world, when I not only take on any human opponents, but any Fighting Pokemon as well. I will earn both titles. And, I will head home, meet up with both my little girls, and my big boy, and I will take them out to a wonderful dinner." Shoot, what is the current sponsor?--"I will head to the Combapple, for a nice cobbler and beefy steak ribs, with their special sauce!"
Dwayne goes into his dressing room, slamming the door behind him. Panting a bit. That was very bad luck--as he was trying to take a route, that he would not have to do an event like that. Dwayne picked up his tiny computer thing. Something that did not exist until recently--and his daughter did a fair amount of development. Somebody else invented it. It was good tool. He looked at the messages--apparently the boss loved his sponsor ship cut in. A bit rushed--but at leash Dwayne got it right.
Dwayne picked up a bit of pretext about others getting it wrong--as the Boss mentioned he was one of the better ones at getting it. Dwayne had screwed it up several times last week--kept giving out to some coffee shop his account had gone sour. There was a memo that later, he would be going to a meeting to discuss what the projected path at Muscle Raw 1986. Dwayne sighed--they tended to be the sort to favour getting him so close to both titles, possibly winning the Pokemon one--but barely failing the human one--or Vice Verse.
The whole angle of "victory having been so close, I can taste it" that they love having their shows go in the direction of. They would likely put him up with a rival. Either somebody who is soon to retire, or maybe a new younger upstart that would be faster and quicker than him. To give the final match an edge once--well, if he got to it. The memo could have him out of the events right off at the start, to be positioned around later.
Well, Dwayne did think he had been a little slow in phoning Krystal. He had a bit of issues reaching her computer phone thing over the last year. Something about interference the system could not filter. Dwayne smacks the dialer program open--cursing this infernal technology, that cannot work at the best of times. What if Krystal was in trouble? He tries dialing again--he did this once a week now.
The call gets through and Krystal answers the phone.