The sky had opened up here in Oslo, Norway. I had taken the liberty of checking ahead on what the weather conditions would be like over in this part of the world at the behest of Mister Parker's wife, Ms. Angel Cassidy-Parker. Her husband, my friend and mentor, Mister parker, well he admittedly never takes these sorts of things into consideration.
You'd never hear me admit this aloud, at least wherever he could hear me, but he is the stubborn sort, and believes himself indestructible. I don't even think I ever heard the man sneeze or sniffle, let alone catch a full blown cold. But I also happen to think that's more or less due to the machinations of his wife's care, and her having me watch out for him when she isn't joining us on the road of the random tour that I find myself thrust upon. When Mister Parker had last gotten off of the phone with his family in Atlanta, it was in the low end twenties, quite chilly, and there was a threat of rain which just made the air have even more of a hard edged chill to it due to the in coming precipitation. Mister Parker had packed for himself his usual wear for cold weather -- his favorite jean jacket that his wife says should have been thrown out when it was still in fashion. That's also why she had me sneak that out of his luggage before we left for Oslo and put in the winter jacket she had sent me for him.
It's also why he gave me the 'stink eye' the entire plane ride over here, seated in that bulky coat.
It's just as well. I think the weather here in Norway even caught him off guard. The jet had started to let the passengers off at the airport, and being up front in first class (why he is never willing to ride anything less is beyond me), he and I were among the first to exit. No sooner did we set foot off of the jet than did a blast of the cold air sift through the spaces between the jet's exit and the ramp, than that manager of mine uttered a blistering curse.
"Jesus Christ!" He snarled, all but ignoring the farewell of the head stewardess and pilot as he walked right past them and into the ramp. "It's cold as Hell!"
The rain that just so happened to be falling also didn't help matters any.
"Thank you." I made certain to give my respects to the men who flew us here safely and the women who made certain to see to our comforts, and that of the other passengers as well. I then followed him, pulling my carry-on behind me as he did himself and called behind him, "That observation sort of cancels itself out, doesn't it? I mean, Hell is not exactly supposed to be 'cold' now is it?"
Mister Parker paused only long enough at the 'mouth' of the ramp to look over his shoulder and gift me with an expression I dare say he had learned to perfect over the years and say, "If you want to be a smart ass, y'all can go there an' find out."
"I'm telling my Grandma on you." I called after him as he continued on into the Oslo-Gardermoen Airport's vast interior with my hurrying to catch up with him.
"You know, it wouldn't hurt for us to experience at least some of the culture of this place."
I said as we rode side-by-side on the Flytoget, an airport express train that would take us from the airport and straight to Oslo central Station, where we would find a ride to the hotel. I was looking at a pamphlet I had grabbed at the airport that detailed many of the local sights and attractions for the many tourists that found themselves here in Oslo for vacations, be it personal or business. I looked up and saw that Mister Parker wasn't paying very close attention, as he was seated beside the window of the train and was watching the sights of this beautiful city pass by en route. The sky remained gray and cloudy, and the rain that fell from above splashed against the windows of the train. It would have been much to my own enjoyment, but Mister Parker was not a lover of this wet weather, nor were the majority of the passengers judging by the random grumblings I could hear.
"We're here for business, Bo. Not pleasure." He stated, his eyes only straying to from the window for a moment to take the briefest of glances at the pamphlet that I was trying to attract his attention with.
"I'm aware of that." I answered, and as usual I was tempted to bow down to whatever he said but why come to such beautiful places so early if you weren't going to take advantage of what the places had to offer. I continued, "But we are getting here early, so why not take in some sight seeing? Look."
I had to practically hold the pamphlet under his nose to get him to look as I said, "We could visit the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art, or the Akershus fortress?"
Mister Parker sighed as he rolled his eyes and tore his attention away from what I was trying to stress and he said, "You've mistaken me for muh wife Bo. Ah never was much for tourist attractions."
"Maybe not but if you don't go out and find some goodies to bring back home for your wife and little ones, you're going to be sleeping on the couch until this world tour is over." I said with a smile.
To his credit, Mister Parker didn't give me much of a clue in his facial features but I knew the man well enough to know that I had just scored huge points for the win of this particular debate. He just grumbled audibly and mumbled, "Now yer the one soundin' like muh wife."
"Impossible." I sat back in my seat, satisfied. "My butt's cuter."
I felt his eyes suddenly on me and I cleared my throat. "Not that I've looked."
"Okay, it's Austin Parker here. You're going to have to get over the fact that ah took over this here bit of the promo Bo was cuttin', but there were some words said recently and ah have to step in because everybody knows that Bo is too nice and respectable of a kid to say what needs to be said."
"Ah'm not."
"An' it mainly goes out to that Amanda Cortez character, who decided to open her big mouth, an' by a miracle, it wasn't because she was on a big date an' was about to swallow someone's... well, I suppose even ah probably shouldn't go there. Ah do have kids an' Bo's family will be payin' close attention."
"The minute Cortez started yappin' away, she showed just how damn ignorant she was. Talkin' all that crap about Bo an' his lack of skill was probably the biggest load of horse shit any rassler ever spewed from outta their mouths. Bo Dreamwolf? Not a great in-ring rassler? Sister, ah think that skull of yers has been slammed into the head board one too many times by whoever, or whatever, has been the latest thing to mount you. Bo can rassle circles around anyone here in Sin City Wrestling. He's become one of the finer technical athletes in the sport, an' if you can't see that ... well you've obviously been drinking."
"Compare yerself to him all you like, but in the end there is no comparison. He's a better athlete than you could hope to be, an' unlike you, has earned his accolades. First time you ever got yer hands on those tag titles, you had them handed to you -- literally, as opposed to winning them inside of the ring. Now this time? You had to resort to usin' foul tactics to regain the gold. You might as well focus on how long you'll be able to keep hold of them titles with that partner of yers because in the end, your run in this tournament is at an end, and you'll have nobody to blame but yerself. "
"Insult him. Belittle him. It's all jest words in the end. Bo can smile and nod, and take his payback in the form of walking away from that match as the winner, knowin' he jest proved you wrong. I tend to have the more direct approach, an' for you to judge him by his appearance, jest because he takes great pride in his heritage as his grandparents taught him to? Well all ah can say is if appearances tell the tale, then you have to be the biggest tattooed crack whore that money can buy. All ah ever see are pictures an' shots of you wearin' next to nothin' an' tweetin' about sex and what have you. Well pardon me for 'slut shamin', but you madam, are a slut."
"Yer all talk Cortez. Everything you said about Bo, ah seem to recall you sayin' towards the daddy of that partner of yers as well. Yet what happened when you came face to face with the man? You backed down with yer tail between yer legs, like the whiny little bitch that you are."
"Now that partner of yers? Him I will give due credit. I met the little guy before SCW was a thing, way back when he an' Gabriel were workin' for a place called the Asylum Wrestling Alliance. Synn brought them to muh home for some additional trainin' an' ah have to be honest; Despayre is a handful for someone so damn little."
"Ah never saw a kid move about the ring like he does, while his opponents fight like crazy jest to get their hands on him an' get a grip! Kid moves like greased lightning an' trying to catch him is about as tough as successfully nailin' jello to a tree."
"Ah can't figure Despayre out. Ah tried an' ah even told Synn the same damn thing. They trained him well for the ring, but he rarely, if ever, goes into that ring with a sound strategy in his head. His own buddy Gabriel said it was damn near impossible to get him too focus on any match, so what do they do? They just let him climb in there an' jest turn the kid loose. An' you know something? It works! Something is obviously goin' right with this strategy because how often do you see the kid lose? Three-time tag champion here in SCW alone, an' has the record for the longest championship reign over anyone in terms of length. All ah hear are people sayin' that it's because of his partners, but ah ain't buyin' it. There's a reason why that kid can go in there, a quarter of the size of most of his opponents, an'' still walk away with his head an' arm held high."
"He's special. Damn special, an' ah ain't about to let Bo take him lightly, even if he is the more experienced worker an' has the better technical skills. You can't prepare for someone who is capable of goin' in there and doin' jest about anything. So all I can promise is that ah told Bo to do what he does best. Get a hold of Despayre, take him down, an' don't let go. Sooner or later, the superior skills will come out on top."</color>
