Black Severin's General Appearance
This was something of an adjustment for Terrell, navigating the public as his wrestling persona. But he was in the town where the next show would be held, so he figured it prudent.
His face felt naked without the glasses he'd worn for years, and he wasn't used to having eyes on him the moment he walks through the door. It was mostly positive attention, though. People coming up to ask for pictures and autographs, shaking his hand and telling him to keep up the good work. Every single interaction made the day of the man who was either invisible or a target to people prior.
Maybe Ryan had a point. It made him regret not taking him up on his offer of training when he had the chance.
But he'll make it up to him. He was committed now, truly: One of these days, Black Severin was going to make it to the top. He was going to be a Middleweight champion, and he'd be shooting his shot at the Openweight title too.
But for now, he'd decided that he would stop by the local bar. Have a drink, see if maybe he could find a nice girl to talk to. He would've invited Serena, but she had some personal things to sort out.
In the meantime...
Severin was at the door leading inside when he caught the tail end of some meathead making a scene, strutting around like he owned the place. And at what was surely six feet and over two hundred pounds of pure muscle, nobody was in a hurry to try to convince him otherwise. He was sorely tempted to be that one, though. Wipe that smug grin off his face, make sure that the next steps he took would be devoid of that bullying swagger.
He'd stood his ground against a woman who was in the Heavyweight title scene, so he liked his chances against this jackass, who'd found a distraction in a woman that both had quickly identified as the most beautiful in the bar. Severin stepped further inside and found himself a seat, oblivious to the admiring gazes he was getting from some of the other ladies.
He wasn't much of a drinker, but he'd spent enough time in bars to know that guys like this were serious trouble, especially when they've had a few and been told no, as he suspected the man was about to be.
No, scratch that. He was definitely going to be. There Severin was, believing that men who made an open attempt at hooking up not only with a woman, but her sister as well had existed only in movies, but there he was, working hard to make the rest of their sex look bad. He shook his head, glad that, as bad as he might be with the ladies, that he at least wasn't...that.
How in the blue hell did he think that was going to work?
...
Oh, they were both wrestlers as well. For LAW, Severin was sure.
...
Oh, good God. What the hell did this man just say? Severin grimaced. Watching their interaction unfold was beginning to hurt him physically, and he couldn't do it anymore. He stood up and was about to intervene when the aggrieved amazon took the matter into her own hands.
There was an aura about the brunette that made her seem capable, but he just didn't feel comfortable leaving it alone. He's kind of old school like that.
And so he ordered himself a drink: A fruit punch margarita. His choice got him that look from the bartender. The one that represented the reason why he hardly ever drinks in a public space.
"How can you call yourself a man and drink that shit?" A question that had been leveled at him in the past and one that was present in the woman's eyes. Great. A neo-Neanderthal without a leash and a judgmental bartender.
Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come here.
Severin paid for his drink and immediately set off for the basement, being one of the first to arrive to watch the show. And what a show it was. Sylva (he'd learn her name when it was announced at the end) had made a proper fool of James (same). About as well as he'd made one of himself, and that was saying something. The longer this went on, the more apparent it became that she could handle herself. And surely enough, by the end of it, James was too worn out to try anything else.
And speaking of trying, well...Severin wasn't about to challenge Sylva to a match here when she already had one after she'd been drinking prior. Perhaps it was a bit too chivalrous of him -- after all, she'd made the offer to anyone who was interested -- but it just didn't feel very sporting at all.
It was for that same reason that he would keep it friendly when he approached her. That is, if she'd even want to speak to him. After dealing with that ape, she might not be in the mood to socialize, but...He liked too much of what he'd seen to not make an attempt, at least.
Keep the roll slow. Offer her a drink, try to make friends. See where it goes from there.
He hesitated when he saw her take a seat a the bar, still clad in her wrestling gear. There was one beside her that was open, but his inner voice was telling him now, "Don't engage." In response, he took a breath, emptied his mind, and made himself take those beginning steps forward before he could start thinking again. And by then, she would've seen him coming. He'd be committed.
Okay. We're doing this.
Take a seat. Friendly smile. Introduce yourself. "Hello, there. My name's Black Severin. I wanted to say that you put on one heck of a show, smacking that neo-Neanderthal around. Would you like a drink?"
