Post by Deleted on Sept 24, 2016 20:30:17 GMT -5
Key
Dialogue, Warren Goodwin
Dialogue, other
Strutting Through the Gate:
A Warren Goodwin RP
The setting: A used car lot, somewhere in San Diego, CA.
“I think you'll find this model quite to your liking, Mr. Goodwin,” an earnest bespectacled salesman with a comb-over slick as an oil spill insisted.
Warren approached the motor vehicle with some trepidation. They'd been at it a good two hours and so far none of the options on the lot had suited him. It hadn't been for lack of trying on the middle aged dealership employee's part. Upon seeing such a well dressed gentleman strolling through the lot casually he'd been convinced an easy sale was on hand. Yet he hadn't expected the fervor, the discriminating eye with which Goodwin considered his transportation. Someone who looked and dressed like a million bucks couldn't choose just any old jalopy.
Dozens of suggestions later he was pretty dubious as to the salesman's taste. None of the contraptions which had been presented to Warren were worthy of a gentleman from uptown. To be blunt none of them had It. That raised an odd query – could a thing have It? Certain Joes and Janes could for sure. But an automobile? For that to be the case the car would have to have all the right curves to look both absolutely gorgeous and classy. What sat in front of him now was definitely rounded in a number of places. That running board really caught his eye too. Warren tipped the brim of his fedora back a tinge as he whistled in admiration.
The salesman's eyebrows fluttered hopefully, “What do you think?”
“It's ab-so-lute-ly copacetic, my good man,” Warren finally spoke, words accented as if halfway between New and Old England.
Seeing the man's confusion, Warren gave the car's hood an appreciative pat, “To be frank I wasn't sure any of these would really sing out to me. Of all the cars in all the lot, this one is quite indubitably the bee's knees, the cat's meow! Do you follow?”
“... sort of?” responded the balding man.
“Let me give you the low down then. You see how the frame is sloped, gracefully like a gently rolling country landscape? How the running board is just enough that you could have Brunos on either side ready to roll?” Goodwin remarked as he strolled around the car, “Not that I would, of course. Warren Goodwin's on the level, no two ways about it. And look at the interior! Wondrous leather crafted to fit a butter and egg man like a glove. This, sir, is a fine automobile.”
“Thank God,” the salesman sighed under his breath, “So you'll take it?”
“Hold up, I'd like to do one last test if you don't terribly mind,” Warren announced suddenly, “I'll have to make a few calls though. You don't mind if I use your phone, do you....” He squinted, trying to read the salesman's name tag.
“Gary,” the salesman enlightened him.
“Gary. Well Gary, this cooper is just what I've been looking for but I've got to make sure everyone fits..” Warren added before breaking out in laughter, “Ha! That's pretty auspicious! Let's go, Gary.”
Several phone calls full of arcane terminology later the two men were once again standing next to the car. It'd taken another hour for everyone Warren Goodwin had called to arrive. Gary became increasingly aggravated with every passing minute. Wondering if he could find a car to sell to this odd man was better than wondering if the guy would actually buy the car. Anger gave way to shock as four very lovely ladies showed up and made a beeline for Goodwin. Every one of them was decked out in fairly fancy clothes, though none quite as archaic as the man himself wore. Once they'd all arrived Warren had simply insisted that each get into the car as a trial. Three in the back and one in the front, they sure enough fit comfortably. Then the tall wrestler took his place in the driver's seat and surveyed the interior.
“Plenty of doo-dads in here,” he remarked, then pointed to the oddly lit display in the dashboard, “Now what's this, I wonder?”
“That's the rad-” Gary began to explain. He was cut off by blaring synthesizer music straight from the era of Reaganomics.
Warren looked horrified for a moment until the lady next to him tapped the button to shut the noise off. A sly grin crossed Warren's face, “Neat trick. Music on command – that's quite the luxury.”
“It's to your liking then?” Gary asked, growing a bit more impatient as Warren fiddled with other random buttons.
After shutting off the windshield wipers, brights and car alarm he'd somehow managed to trigger, Warren climbed out of the car. Without a word the ladies followed his example. They stood at the ready as Warren gave the vehicle one last once-over before nodding in satisfaction. While it was a far sight more technological than the type of vehicle he'd started off looking for, it was a fine one all the same. Warren snapped his fingers and one of the girls fished a pen out of her sequined purse. Another two produced stacks of bills in from their handbags, smiling demurely. With these at the ready Warren motioned for the unfortunate salesman to step over to the car.
“I'll take it,” he confirmed as the girls set the cash on the car's hood, “We're going to take this baby to a gin mill tonight! It'll be quite the occasion, and you are invited my friend. Consider it a bit of an early celebration!”
Gary handed the paperwork to Goodwin, but couldn't help but ask, “A celebration of what?”
Warren signed the first sheet, then grinned, “Applesauce! You haven't heard? There's an important occasion right around the corner in this very town! We're celebrating that grand occasion – no more barnstorming for the likes of Warren Goodwin, no sir.”
Seeing that Gary was still confused, Warren fished through his coat pocket and produced a business card. This he handed to the salesman with more gusto than such a gesture had any right entailing. The fashionable superstar went through the other paperwork with his redheaded lady companion duly advising each initial and John Hancock. Meanwhile Gary stared at the card, surprised to find it read 'Warren H. Goodwin, Superstar and Gentleman'. A logo appeared in the upper right corner opposite Goodwin's monogram. Upon further inspection it proved to be for 'Legacy Pro Wrestling'. This guy was a pro wrestler? That might explain how strange he was but the glove didn't seem to fit. Not quite.
“Oh, that one's a little old. Here ya go, hon,” cooed Goodwin's brunette accomplice. She sauntered over and handed Gary a second card; nearly identical to the first, it boasted the logo of WFWF rather than LPW.
“WFWF?” Gary read aloud, “Like that wrestling show that's coming through town this weekend?”
“You shred it wheat,” Warren nodded, “The Gate is opened and Warren H. Goodwin is coming straight through, togged to the bricks but still ready for a scrap. What we're celebrating is the impending victory of the best-dressed man in the biz and his golden opportunity to take center stage at SuperBrawl. Nothing against Mr. Bison, he's a cool cat who's been through the bush leagues just like I have. But when you think about it, what's he done in WFWF?”
“Kibosh!” the redhead chimed in.
“Squat!” came the brunette's voice.
“Trip for biscuits!” the third girl, a blonde, threw in.
The final lady had black hair and was taller than the other three. She stood there and bluntly added, “He's been running around like a rooster with its head cut off.. if you sm-”
“You get the picture, don't you Gary?” Warren cut the girl off, which seemed to annoy her a bit, “Brandon Bison is plenty rugged, ready to put up the mitts no matter how long the odds are, but he just doesn't quite have It. He goes out there ready for a fight but ends up laid out like any other Palooka no matter what. I'm sure he's gotten all worked up about facing the new guy in town, but Warren Goodwin doesn't take any wooden nickles. No sir.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Gary wondered aloud. He cringed a little as Warren put an arm around his shoulders.
“Because, my man, that's not the only thing we're celebrating tonight! Oh no, we've got a second grand occasion to celebrate! You see I'm not the only one with a golden opportunity,” Warren assured him confidently, “You've been so helpful that I'm perfectly willing to spring you from the drudgery of this joint, Gary.”
“What?!” Gary wasn't sure he understood what was going on.
“Don't be a piker, Gary. There's more to you than meets the eye, and I'm sure you've got quite a mind for numbers. How would you like to be the official financier for the one and only Warren H. Goodwin?” Goodwin insisted, motioning to an imagined future, “Just imagine it: instead of sitting here selling automobiles to average Joes, you'd be in your glad rags each and every day. You'd meet and greet rich and famous sorts, go to real clambakes and meet plenty of dames while you're at it!”
He let it sink in a moment before he stepped back and said, “Keep in mind these dolls here are with me. You'll have to find your own.. however, as you'd be working with them let me introduce you. This here with the gorgeous gams is Flossie, the single greatest seamstress in wrestling.”
The redhead curtsied, “Pleasure to meet ya.”
“This mocha-haired gem is my secretary, Roxie,” Warren went on.
Roxie winked, “I make sure everything's eggs in coffee.”
Warren motioned to the blonde, “And this is Mary, as keen a hoofer as she is a stylist.”
Mary smiled demurely, “You're too kind, Mr. Goodwin.”
“And last but not least, the lady who ensures everything's fine and dandy around the home and locker room alike, Miss Virginia,” Warren concluded.
The black haired woman just nodded, “I bake smackdowns, all right.”
“Um... yeah. So.. you're just offering me a job? Right on the spot?” Gary asked, dumbfounded yet again.
“Precisely. Think about it. Would you rather be sitting around here with coffee stains on your decrepit desk praying for a commission or two? Or would you rather be out putting on the Ritz with a rising superstar? All you have to do is slip me five when you're ready,” Warren explained, holding out his hand to show what he meant by the last remark.
“Okay then... well, I'll go take this paperwork in... en-enjoy the car?” Gary replied, not really sure what to make of all this.
As the salesman retreated a bit Warren gave a big smile, “I will! After all it's Gary's cooper... get it?”
All the girls, save Virginia, had a laugh riot with the pun. Gary meanwhile tucked tail and ran lest Goodwin prove to be some sort of time traveling gangster or something.
I dont know good luck 
