H2H vs HARRY SMITH

[Handsome Harley]

Standard Rules 2 on 1 Tag Handicap Match
Highway To Hell w/ Mr. Togo
vs
Harry Smith

[idol]

Saint: You know what? I think Hollywood likes us.

Lee: What makes you say that?

Saint smiles as he sets his empty beer bottle on the table and motions toward the television in the corner of the bar. Lee puts his beer down in time to see the commercial for the upcoming Shockwave.

Well, for starters, let's review the past couple of weeks. We sign with Mr. Togo, beat that loser at the bar to a bloody pulp, nearly kill some weirdo backstage, I win my match in less time than it took to walk to the ring, and then we end the show crushing that little cockroach once again.

And getting kicked around by a couple of losers in Halloween masks.

Saint frowns at that as he signals for another beer.

We'll get to them. Damn luchadors want to jump into our business? When the time is right, they will pay for sticking their noses where they don't belong. Just think...when Shockwave rolls around, between the two of us and Togo, we'll have two pairs of eyes watching for those two while the other is pounding Smith into the mat. Think about it-we should have been punished for at least a couple of our random acts of violence last show, but we're damned near being rewarded. A chance to finish the job once and for all and move on to bigger and better things.

Togo: My sentiments exactly.

Both men look up as Mr. Togo approaches the table. A few steps behind him, a waitress approaches with a tray laden with drinks. Her eyes lock with Saint's as she sets the tray on the table. Togo hands her a bundle of cash. She steps back, stuffing the bills into her shirt, and looks from Togo to Saint.

Hey, X-Man...the young lady here would like a word with you.

Saint and Lee exchange looks and shrugs before Xavier grabs one of the beers and walks over to join the attractive brunette. Lee kills the beer in his hand and turns back to Mr. Togo.

Hell is that all about?

Damned if I know, but she said she knew him from way back. Could be true, could be bullshit. Either way, X is a big boy. He can handle himself.

True enough. Pass me another one of those.

Togo obliges and selects a glass of his own from the tray. He takes a sip and smiles, then turns his attention back to J.J.

Well, Mr. Lee, are you excited about the upcoming Shockwave?

I suppose I am. Sure, I've been in plenty of scrapes, and we sure had some fun last time, but I do look forward to making an official debut in the ring.

Good. Just do not forget why you are there. Destruction. Pain. Violence. I want both of you focused on crushing Smith, not worrying about Mascara Muerto. I'll be prepared for them this time.

Hey, let Nacho Libre and Mucha Lucha come if they want. I'll be nice enough to put some salsa on my boot before I shove it down their throats.

Mr. Togo smiles as he takes another sip.

If nothing else, I like your spirit. Now if we can just focus that energy. One way or another, we will further the gospel of violence. Smith, at the very least, will be a believer.

Damn right. Both of us are going to...where the hell did Saint go?

Togo nods toward the door of the bar.

He and Lilith stepped outside a moment ago. I suspect he's going to be focusing his energy elsewhere for the night.

Don't worry, he'll be ready to roll by tomorrow. Wait, did you say Lilith? I've heard of her before.

Oh, I don't worry about Xavier. He's a big boy...the two of them can handle themselves...and each other, just fine.

[pete]

David Parker[/b] has just finished clearing up the mess from Edwin Solomon[/b]'s intempestive visit when another aggravated worker on his payroll bursts through the door, leaning forward on his desk and uttering two simple words:

Man: Street fight.

Parker[/b] gives no immediate response, other than to roll his eyes and give a dry chuckle:

David Parker: Well, well, aren't I getting a lot of visits today...

Only then does he finally look up at his interloper, none other than down-on-his-luck Brit superstar, 'Handsome' Harry Smith:[/b]

David Parker: What was that now?

Harry, very slowly this time: Street. Fight.

The HEW[/b] boss initially feigns ignorance, asking innocently:

David Parker: Is there one outside, or...?

Harry[/b], however, will have none of his boss's cheek:

Handsome Harry Smith: No, for fucksakes! It's what I want me match to be! Street Fight, Falls Count Anywhere, Extreme Rules, No-DQ...call it whatever the hell you want, but I want that match to be a good old-fashioned punch-up.

A smile broaches David[/b]'s lips as he takes in his employee's words and points out an obvious oversight:

David Parker: You do realize you're putting yourself at even more of a disadvantage, right? They're already two against one, and now you're gonna give them the opportunity to cheat? You got a death wish or somethin'?

Harry[/b], however, seems unconcerned:

Harry Smith: I don't give a toss. Just do it, Parker!

The booker has another dry guffaw:

David Parker: Why should I? Because some oh-and-two loser asked me to?

Harry[/b] raises a fist menacingly, his accent coming out:

Harry Smith: No, because a bloke who can kick yer sorry arse asked you to!

Perhaps impressed with his employee's bravery, Parker[/b] relents:

David Parker: Ya got nerve, I'll give ya that. I'll consider your request.

Sensing he's won an important battle, Harry[/b] moves on to his next demand:

Harry Smith: And another thing. You're going to book a tag match for next show. Those wankers Highway To Hell against me and a mystery partner!

David Parker raises an intrigued eyebrow: Oh?

Smith[/b], however, does not elaborate:

Harry Smith: Just trust me. Book it.

And with that, before the HEW General Manager can say another word, the Englishman turns and leaves the office, closing the door behind him.

[pete]

It's a few hours after Handsome Harry Smith's visit to HEW GM David Parker, and the Brit is seen standing outside a bar, pulling his jacket tighter against the cold as he smokes and talks to someone on the phone:

Handsome Harry Smith: So you're comin' over, yeah?[/color]

He stops a moment to listen to the other party, then raises his tone incredulously:

Handsome Harry: Whad'ya mean, 'no'? Com'on, mate! I thought we woz a team![/color]

He pauses once again, then:

Handsome Harry: Sod the hot dog stand! Ya can afford to shut it down for a while! You're not comin' here forever, you know. It's just 'till we're done with these buggers. Put somebody in charge, like Keith or someone...![/color]

Another answer comes from the other end of the line, and Harry retorts:

Handsome Harry: What are you on about?! Keith's a right mate! It wer'n't his fault 'bout that fire at the Tesco, you know...[/color]

Whatever the other person says puts a slight smile on the Brit's face, as he adopts a pleading tone:

Handsome Harry: Com'on, chief! Be a mate an' giz a hand, yeah?[/color]

Just as a definitive answer is seemingly given, a red convertible pulls up outside the bar, a chesty bleached blonde smiling at Harry from behind the wheel. This prompts the Brit to put a hasty end to the conversation:

Handsome Harry: Listen, I gotta go, my ride is here. But you're comin' over, yeah?[/color]

This time, the reply makes him smile:

Handsome Harry: Magic. Speak to yez later![/color]

Then, addressing the blonde as he steps into her car:

Handsome Harry: Rev 'er up, babe.[/color]

Moments later, nothing remains of the two but a cloud of exhaust smoke.