Old Dogs, New Tricks

"Oooph!!!"

The occasional Japanese pedestrian, whose dull-eyed attention would be transfixed squarely upon the bewitching smartphone in their hand, would wind up becoming jarred free from their spellbound stupor by not making enough room for the hulking figure power-walking towards his destination and nudging shoulders along the way. Those who were pleading for forgiveness were scarcely offered a sideways glance as the bowl-cutted gentleman marched onward towards a rendezvous he'd eventually accepted after having his secretary shuffle around several meetings and appointments in his day-planner to offer his compatriot the honor of being afforded time with the Almighty Dasher Inoba~...or so he told Wolf. The solemn truth of the matter was that Dasher's schedule was vast with blank nothingness outside of his routinely duties as headmaster of his training gym. A lamentable microcosm of neglecting to accept Tension's offer for more television time since his heralded Dasher Challenge always caught the eyes and lowered the remotes of wrestling fans the world over.

Except it was naught but a farce. For his undefeated streak was already tainted from the abysmal conclusion of that accursed Elimination Chamber Match, wherein the wrestling brute was summarily pinned and defeated by the combined efforts of three of its participants. Well...four, if you count the one lady who was eliminated beforehand and thus unable to dog-pile upon the kayoed puroresu champion along with the rest. His manly honor having been besmirched that day, and since than he was at a crossroads in terms of how to proceed with his Tension career and how best to imbue his wrestling philosophy upon this wrestling league. For now though, a strong brew with an old rival who may understand his plight could be just what the wrestling doctor ordered. Dasher entering the establishment with his commanding presence drawing attention from the majority of inhabitants. He'd straighten out his crimson red tie and the lapel of his pitch-black business suit with a scowling harrumph, noticing his old adversary from afar and starting to march towards his booth.

"HMPH!!! AND HERE I THOUGHT THIS WAS AN ESTABLISHMENT MEANT TO SERVICE ACTUAL WRESTLERS, NOT WEAK-KNEED AMATEURS WHO WOULDN'T KNOW A WRISTLOCK FROM A WRISTWATCH!!! WHO LET THIS NOODLE ARMED SUNNOVA BITCH IN HERE!!??" Dasher bellowed while marching up to Wolf, rearing his hand back for what some in the bar were afraid was an opening strike against two people they'd have a hell of a time trying to pull apart should they get to brawling.

Those within the vicinity were either jostled out of their seats or had to catch their napkins and scarcely prevented their drinks from tipping over after a residual shockwave reverberated throughout the bar. As if a gust of tempestuous wind whirled from the epicenter of what was as manly a greeting they'd ever seen in all of their days...which said a lot considering the testosterone laced profession of theirs. Dasher expecting nothing less from the man he'd gone to war with all throughout the world, from main-eventing at Wrestle-World right here in Japan or stealing the show at Lucha-Lunacy in Mexico. Golden-stars showered whatever matches contained these two grappling titans butting heads and locking horns, except even in the most tumultuous of rivalries, a bud of respect can still begin to grow. That seed having grown into a mighty oak tree and was on muscle-fueled display at the moment.

"Heh...The offer is still on the table for my personal barbers to finally give you a proper haircut, and this style may just work better in hiding those spots of male pattern baldness up there..." Dasher remarked with a smirking gleam, never relenting one iota in the handshake turned test of strength. The fabric on the sleeve of his suit began being stretched and tightened by the flexing bicep underneath. Matching eyes with his Native American rival and searching for any sign of weakness. Still none to be seen and this was just was how he preferred it as he stayed firm and steadfast. "Getting tired already, Hawkfield? Looks like those American leagues have made you grow soft in your old age..." Though words of smirking confidence were spoke, a small drop of sweat trailed down the side of Dasher's head. Captivated onlookers flickering their eyes between the two to see who would admit defeat first...

Pride, honor, and indeed pure pig-headed obstinacy were what kept Dasher from paying any mind to what his strained muscles were beginning to hammer into his head with escalating urgency. Memories of his spry youth instead being at the forefront of his mind, back when he was a strapping young lad that wrestling magazines heralded as the next generation of talented newcomers to the industry. Why, after matches he could scarcely step out of his dressing room hallway without getting swarmed by wrestling groupies clamoring for his autograph or whispering their hotel accommodations with a sultry wink~...or at least that's how Dasher chose to remember it, as often times it was Wolf who'd be surrounded by starstruck fans having stampeded past a spitefully envious bowl-cutted man.

"Haha, a worthy effort, my friend..." Dasher bellowed out once Wolf acquiesced, patting his compatriot on the shoulder as well with a congenial smile as he began motioning them both to their booth. Stealthily jostling his arm about to loosen it back up and attempt to not let it be known just how much of a taxing toll that greeting was taking on him. He'll be needing to use his other arm to do any heavy lifting, or lifting in general for the rest of the night. "Bah, you should have taken my offer to join the Japanese league long ago. Pay is superb and it toughens you up!!! Maybe if you had, you wouldn't be getting pinned by our schoolgirls, eh~..." Some lighthearted ribbing came with Dasher signaling to the waitress for his typical drink before turning back to face Wolf. "I spied Cheyenne ringside for that match, how goes my goddaughter, eh? That young whipper-snapper..."

Upon hearing of his colleague's arrival within the hallowed shores of his native land, Dasher indeed only thought it would be appropriate to keep himself abreast of Wolf's and Cheyenne's wrestling career. To see if his old chum still had the wrestling chops that made him one of Dasher's most skilled rivals and even tag-team ally at times. Plus to see how little the apple fell from it's tree in terms of his rambunctious teenage daughter. However upon beginning to peruse Wolf's initial tag-team debut, Dasher opted to promptly stop and erase the match on his DVR once it started to become too...sinful, for his liking. A man's honor was about to be besmirched and he wanted to bear witness to none of that. Especially when he could simply peruse the results within the weekly wrestling newsletter. Luckily for both him and Dasher, Wolf's match with that schoolgirl was an exceedingly more respectable bout to discuss between men...but he did still lose. Indeed worth a manly ribbing.

"Heh, Cheyenne always did know how to run you ragged. Grown men the size of small tanks couldn't worry you more than that girl could. But that boy of mine is a regular chip off the old Inoba block. Not that his mother is particularly fond of that..." Dasher remarked while scratching the side of his cheek, his favorite bottle of Sake being placed beside him on the table along with his serving choko cup which was filled up before the waitress left. "Katsuo worships the very feet I walk on. I suppose like most sons tend to do when they have a wrestler for a Father. He keeps insisting that he should enroll at my training gym, but I don't want him treated any differently by the other students just because he's the son of THE Dasher Inoba." Dasher merrily obliged his friend by fishing through his wallet for pictures. He plucked out the first one he happened across and shared it with Wolf. "Plus I worry I'll end up showing favoritism towards him, or going easing on him during fitness runs."

Katsuo:

Irreconcilable differences was the official reasoning written down upon the divorce papers to his first wife, and thankfully that legal definition was all the reasoning required because Katsuo's mother would have assuredly written an essay's worth of reasons to end their marriage before it had gotten any rockier than it already was becoming. Dasher's archaic mindset when it comes to women and thick-headed stubbornness no doubt headlining that essay, although dedicating himself intently to his grappling profession more than his family was perhaps the prickly needle that broke the camel's back. Now that one needle was costing him a fortune in alimony checks. "Yes, Yes...he's had his first matches. Under a different name to avoid publicity and in minor leagues here and there. Victories all around, although he seems to have adapted more of cruiserweight/striker style. Heh, but one day the Inoba genes will kick in and he'll be capable of growing muscles just like his old man~..."

Dasher bellowed with a hearty pounding of his fist against his puffed out chest, afterward motioning with a push of his hand for Wolf to keep the picture of Katsuo. "Ah, keep it. My wallet is fit to bursting of pictures already." Afterward he'd lean back in his chair and cross his arms in judgmental ponderment. "Hmph...I'm not so sure I can agree, old chum. Some manner of Peace Corps may have suited her better than strapping on wrestling boots and grappling with men twice her size and strength. In spite of the flagrant vilification I have suffered through upon expressing my sage opinion on the matter, I stand firm in my belief that women should not wrestle with men. It is heresy, I say. Medical science dictates that in terms of musculature and stamina, men are genetically superior. And they only risk injuring themselves or worse by trying to fight against the natural order of things." Dasher ended his harangue with a harrumph before beginning to pour himself his drink.