Old Dogs, New Tricks

Yeah, Wolf suspected they would get on this topic sooner or later. Was just a lot sooner than he’d thought. Maybe that was for the better, though, since it would take a while for that alcohol to sink into Dasher’s thick body. Needless to say, he was quite familiar with his ringbuddy’s reasons for joining Tension, the challenges, all of it. He wasn’t 100% sold on it, seemed a little bullyish, but he knew Dasher Inoba too well to dissuade the man - he didn’t get to his position in life by being the sort of man who deviated off a path he was going down.

”I tried to tell Cheyenne about the same thing. I didn’t word it that way, but…” He huffed and took a moment to get his thoughts together, trying to figure out the right configuration of words. ”Between you, me, and the wall? I don’t disagree. There’s only so much I can talk, look at what happened to me, but in general?”

Wolf tapped Katsuo’s picture on the table, then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the edge. ”For instance, okay, you’ve got your Ryo Toranamis, your Ishigami Yutos. Total pushovers. I’d be embarrassed if Cheyenne couldn’t beat guys like that, so long as she keeps it PG.” He held out one hand, then moved to the other. “But then I look at guy like Killer King, and all the just heinous things he did when he was around, the thought of Cheyenne facing a man like that, what he would do if he had half the chance…”

Wolf ran a hand through his hair and flopped back. ”She’s an adult, I get that, but I’m her father. I still have to be her father, you know?”

Unbeknownst to Dasher, but perhaps known to his compatriot, a disgruntled and sparse number of scattered wrestlers within the bar began directing irate glares towards the bowl-cutted veteran. In particular, the lady grapplers in the house who couldn't help but eavesdrop on that part of the conversation due to Dash's bellowed vocal range. Being an opinionated and old-school curmudgeon like Dasher meant expressing his antiquated opinions to the world and stubbornly insisting he was in the right no matter what. The gruff bowl-cutted billy goat was never one to censor himself or mince his words, and he was intent on going to the grave with this opinion on the matter. And in an odd juxtaposition, it was a long-time rival who ended up being the first wrestler he can recall who shared his sentiment on lady wrestlers.

"Heh, and they say I'm old fashioned. I see it in my students everyday, eyes glued to their cellphones. You may be her Father, but you have no hope of being as impressionable upon her now than when she was a tyke. Nowadays teenagers have their social media, and tweeters, and twitchers, and all sorts of nonsense inundating their brain 24/7. You're hopelessly outgunned, my friend." Dasher smirked before taking another swig of drink, still not feeling the buzz but well on his way should he keep this up. "And I'm no fan of those weak-kneed doormats calling themself wrestlers either. It's because of namby-pamby's like them that woman think they can lock-horns with a real man and think they stand a chance. Hmph...still, I suppose they're preferable to that King person. What a disgrace to the profession, he gives us legit muscled grapplers a bad name..."

Dasher slumped back and crossed his arms while staring out the window of the bar onto the zooming city streets."Bah...to be honest, sometimes I wonder if my boy should find another profession. I just can't recognize this business anymore. And...I'd rather his impression of me now, where he sees me as some fabled hero...not be tainted by what people are saying about me nowadays."

Wolf was, in fact, quite aware of all the attention they were garnering, all the awkward stares coming their way. He’d thought that this sort of thing wouldn’t be too big of a deal because of the language gap, but he’d forgotten just how many people in this country spoke English. Should’ve seen it coming.

He looked over his shoulder long enough to give them a stern stare, unwavering and cold. He wasn’t about to start a fight, but he wasn’t going to run from one, either, and he wasn’t going to be kicked out of a bar that he’d just entered because of eavesdroppers. If they had a problem, they could get out of earshot or just deal with it. He didn’t care which.

”Yeah, social media is Cheyenne’s whole thing. She always on that Instagram, and I don’t know who she’s talking to half the time, getting all these ideas and snapping pictures, and then Charlie showed up, and...” Wolf trailed off with that thought, not wanting to dig that particular skeleton out of his closet unless pressed. This was already getting dour enough, no need to throw more demons into the mix.

He threw his hand up and had another long drink with the other, suddenly wishing for something twice as strong. ”Sometimes I wonder...and this is more than a little hokey, I know, but sometimes I wonder if this is a little like what my ancestors felt. You know, way back. Watching the world change so fast around, everything they knew tumbling down, this whole new world getting built right on top of them.” Wolf propped his chin up on his palm, musing over it. It was the kind of stereotype he’d always taken crap for perpetuating in his career, but he couldn’t help but see the comparison.

He straightened up and rubbed his shoulder, putting more bass into his voice before he spoke again. ”Your kid. He’s got wrestling in his heart, right? Let him follow his heart. People are going to talk, regardless, that’ll always get to him sooner or later. And at least he’ll understand the truth of it better if he’s on the inside, not just hearing about the business from the dirt sheets.”

Dasher's apprehension about his spirited offspring following along in his Father's gigantic footsteps being multi-faceted in practice, but he knew that eventually his boy could overcome any obstacles stemming from the preferential treatment of having such a renowned grappling lineage. Be they exorbitant expectations that he could match his Father's legacy, or enviousness and resentment projected upon him from other wrestlers not being granted the spotlight they felt Katsuo never earned and was merely a result of his birthright. His stalwart son could heap those burdens upon himself and never allow them to dampen that boy's emboldened spirit. But having his son think less of his old man or see him as some ogre-like villain thanks to all of this hooplah generated from Dasher's staunch beliefs about women in wrestling, that was the true roadblock preventing him from giving his son the green light on pursuing his wrestling aspirations. Dasher harrumphed at Wolf's sage advice and took another swig of his freshly poured sake to perhaps make his compatriot's word's easier to digest.

"HMPH. You with all of your...hippy-dippy, free spirited, peyote smoking, drum circle, follow your heart gibberish again. Beginning to sound more and more like that boy's mother, I say." Dasher sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, closing his eyes and concentrated on what was to come of the wrestling business. "This business will never be like it once was. With REAL MEN showcasing true girt, strength and grappling ingenuity with muscled bodies forged from sheer granite...now there's perverted speedo boys and vapid, teeny-bopping instagamers. Whatever whole new world is being slapped on top of what WE built, I want no part of." Dasher began pouring himself his drink before setting back down the bottle. "But you be wary of this social media. Some scrawny puke has been posting defamatory messages under my name, someone I intend to snap in half once I get my hands on them...but who was this Charlie you speak of? Some ex-boyfriend of Cheyenne's who broke his heart? You just say the word, and I'll have him tapping out in my INOBA CLUTCH in no time flat!!!" Dasher bellowed out with an angered grimace while flexing up his arms to the point muscles were beginning to stretch the fabric of his suit jacket...

With many people, Wolf would’ve been a tad insulted with all the talk about peyote and peace circles and whatnot - he’d definitely heard more than enough of that in his own country. From Dasher, it was somehow quaint. It was part of the reason he’d wanted to meet the man so much tonight, he had this weird way of being stuck up but friendly at the same time, and the way he spoke always brought a smile to his face. There was no one in the world quite like Dasher Inoba, for better or worse.

”Nothing wrong with a little peyote. You should try it sometime.” He had a chuckle at the image alone. ”If you ever come to the states, let me know. Stop by, I’ll call the family up, we’ll have a powwow. Good times, you’ll see.”

It was a pleasant thought - he missed that kind of fellowship, would’ve been nice to have Dasher share in it. He leaned back, eased into the seat, and had a wistful sigh as he talked about the good old day. It was rough to see the world pass them by, feeling like relics. A small part of him wanted to pack in, step away from it all, just immerse himself in the past…

He was interrupted in his reminiscing when Dasher brought Charlie back into the conversation. That got a sharp laugh out of him. ”Ha, Charlie? No. I mean, I’d pay to see you put her in the Clutch, but no, it’s not like that.”

It was his turn to fold his arms now, and he leaned back, closed his eyes, brought in some composure before he spoke again. ”Charlie is Charlotte. She’s this student of mine from a few years back. Had a lot of potential, really, could’ve been a big name on the circuits. She was Cheyenne’s babysitter, too, got real close with her. It was all working out, but…” His voice was dropping without him even realizing it, but he managed to bring it back up. ”She got into drugs, used them to cheat. So I had to cut her off. She left, Cheyenne’s never forgiven me for it.”

He brought his arms away from his chest and leaned forward, planting his hands on the table. ”So guess what? She’s here. I turn a corner and she’s just...here, and she’s got this student of her own now and Cheyenne’s making the googly eyes at her, and it’s just a mess. I know she’s here to mess with me, some crazy idea of revenge, but if she’s trying to get at Cheyenne, influence her…”

Wolf rubbed his chin, shook his head, let it go with a hard shrug. ”I don’t know what to do. Cheyenne’s still crazy about Charlotte, she’s her idol, I know I can’t keep her away.”

Despite whatever scurrilous and scandalous rumors one may have overheard about Dasher from fake twitter accounts and unprincipled online wrestling journalists, the Bowl-Cutted Bruiser had never partaken of any psychedelic hallucinogens or performance enhancing drugs in his life. A man of his prideful caliber being taught from a young age that such drug use would ultimately only serve to shorten one's wrestling career through their negative drawbacks and were ultimately a cheat, and nothing more. Yes indeed. Clean, sober living was the high benchmark that he himself lived by, and such ideals were always a emphasized part of Dasher's training curriculum. He knew full well that instilling such virtuous morals with today's youth must be done at a young age and with stressed importance. Unfortunately, this noble act was typically done through long-winded diatribes on Dasher's part and subjecting his students to hours of embarrassingly dated educational VHS tapes. Of course, an occasional drink with your friend/co-workers at a bar is absolutely acceptable and a harmless vice...but as of right now Dasher was intent on teaching this supposed Charlie fellow a lesson for breaking the heart of-

"...Charlotte?!! UH-UHM...I knew that." Dasher relaxed his flexing posture with widened eyes before settling himself into his chair and crossing his arms, putting up a strong and stoic front to salvage the conversational confusion as best he could while continuing to hear about this Charlotte person. About the extensive and prolonged history that seemed to wind about until it appeared this was what had Wolf all in knots over. "Sheesh...It appears all of your accursed luck with women has finally been turned right back on you. Rebellious daughters, pill-popping former pupils...women troubles are apparently all you have now. A far-cry from the types of headaches they've been giving me lately but it seems we are indeed in the same boat. And it's currently up a creek and without a paddle." Dasher stroked his prodigious chin with closed eyes and contemplated further about this situation of Wolf's. "Does Cheyenne know that this "idol" of hers betrayed your trust and disgraced both you and herself by resorting to drug use? I cannot see that little girl with the pigtail I knew from so long ago looking up to such a deplorable person as this Charlotte harlot...oh, that rhymed. Kanpai~..." To commemorate that accidentally poetic wordplay Dasher took another swig of sake with a smile, a buzz definitely starting to be felt.

Wolf had a rough, gruff laugh when Dasher corrected himself, pretending like he knew what he was talking about all along. It wasn’t anything to be offended by, it wasn’t like he expected the man to keep up with his personal life. On top of that, he’d done a decent job with damage control, trying to keep the truth about what happened with Charlotte in a close circle. The dirt sheets had their speculations because of course they did, but that was about it.

Really, the only thing he regretted was not talking to Dasher about this sooner. Should’ve reached out, should’ve connected. His fault, there. Never knew how much he needed someone to talk to until he had it.

”Nice rhyme.” He matched Dasher’s gesture and had a swig of his own. ”And I’m sure she does. I never told her straight out, but she looked up enough stuff, she’s on the internet all the damn time, and she’s Charlie’s biggest fan. She knows.”

He propped his elbows up on the table and rubbed his knuckles, just giving his hands something to do while he pondered. ”It’s hard to explain. Charlotte wasn’t just her babysitter, she was over all the time. She’s like Cheyenne’s big sister. Maybe even closer than that. When she looks at her, she doesn’t see the flaws, she won’t see the lies and the drugs. She just sees her hero. And I’ve got no idea how to snap her out of that. No clue.”

Stories with Wolf when it came to his daughter were making Dasher quite appreciative that he never sired any daughters of his own. He surmised that several of his compatriot's stress wrinkles were due in large part to Cheyenne running her poor father ragged over this particularly bizarre issue of his. One that Dasher admittedly failed to relate to considering his boy Katsuo worshiped the earth to which his Father steps upon. A byproduct he surmised of the abysmal lack of discipline from American parents allowing their children to run roughshod all over them. Spare the rod, spoil the child...he always said. Seeing his American rival became such a pitiable shadow of his former self was beginning to boil his testosterone-laced blood until he'd finally smack his massive mitt upon the table.

"HEY!!!! LISTEN TO YOURSELF SPEAK!!!! What kind of man are you to let some drugged up, pill-popping trollop usurp your own relationship with your daughter??!! Baby-sitter~...Big sister~...She's only Chey's best friend because she isn't family. Well you're not there to be her friend. BECAUSE YOU'RE HER FATHER FOR GODSAKES MAN. That means doing what's best for her even if she hates you for it. Show her the truth of whoever this "Charlie" person is before your daughter ends up taking in the same bad habits. Why just look at me and my boy Katsuo. The child knows that my word is LAW...no questions asked. You think some fair-eyed floozy is going to come between me and my boy?...Hah, unlikely." Dasher confidently swigged back another drink, than proceeding to start scarfing on the free bread provided by the restaurant.

Sometimes you needed someone to speak the truth to you. To set you straight. The weak friends told you what you wanted to hear, just fed you the stuff that made you feel good. Worthless stuff, fluff, not worth too much. But the best friends told you what you needed to hear. The hard truths. Honest, straightforward, to the point.

Then there was whatever the hell Dasher just threw his way. Holy hell, time couldn’t dull this man.

Wolf sat there, arms folded, head askance, as his buddy gave him the old dressing down. The man didn’t mince words, and he could understand where he was coming from, but…

He leaned forward, eyebrows level and furrowed. ”Dasher. Man. Katsuo is a Japanese boy. Cheyenne is a American girl. Big, big, big difference.” He sat back, eased into the plush seat, thinking for a moment. ”She doesn’t just need me, she needs a positive influence, she needs-”

Wolf stopped in mid sentence, as ideas began to sift their way into his head. Katsuo seemed like a good boy, was the right kind of person for Cheyenne to be hanging around. She was still trying to hook up with locals. ”Your boy, tell me - is he seeing anyone? Dating, girlfriend, boyfriend, anything like that?”

One could perhaps attribute Dasher's rather terse, boorish, and testosterone-fueled ramblings as a mere symptom of imbibing more than his fair share of hard liquor this night. Except that when it comes to the Bowl-Cutted Bruiser, this was all rather par for the course. Dasher would have offered this same advice no matter if he was soused up or not. Seeing a fellow compatriot, once considered capable of being on par with The Mighty Inoba in the ring, become reduced to a weak-willed and defeated shell of his former self had all made Dasher's mighty blood boil. He'd begun to consider slapping his drinking partner in the face to snap himself out of his pitiful doldrums if he continued on with this woeful display. That is until Wolf suddenly become interested in his boy Katsuo...

"Hmm? Well he's-HEY!!!! My boy Katsuo has had no desire to enjoy the company of men in that manner...not that there's anything wrong with that." Dasher remarked before taking another swiff of beer before dipping his Karaage chicken into the accompanying sauce and scarfing down on the plate of them served to the table. "But well, hmm...now that I think about it, I don't believe he's currently seeing anyone, and that well-mannered boy of mine confides everything with me. He mainly sticks to his wrestling training, in between helping me manage the gym's finances and help train the new recruits. He's a strong-willed, polite, friendly and responsible young man with a promising future I'd say. Why do you ask?" Dasher casually asked while continuing to eat, far too thick-headed to make the blaring obvious connection himself.