“Sam, c’mon mate, struth. You can’t stay in there forever.”
Within their room at the Hotel Chaco, Dean Coulter tries to talk to his dear friend and partner through the wooden barrier that is the bathroom door. Let’s just say Sam is not too pleased with the way their match against Nathan Paradine and Trent Steel ended. To his credit Sam had the foresight to lock himself in the hotel room bathroom, instead lashing out and starting brawls with random strangers, as he has been known to do.
After all, as previously mentioned, there is little that Sam hates more than losing, more so when he feels the loss is an unjust one.
“Bloody try me!”
“It ain’t your fault. If anything we can place the blame on V.E.N.O.M for costing us the match.”
Yes Sam is the one who tapped out against kinsman, Nathan Paradine, but the untimely interference of V.E.N.O.M influenced the situation in favour of the Hostile Elite.
“Fair Dinkum, those bloody fuckin’ wankers! Couldn’t hack getting’ creamed by us so they gotta ruin it for everybody else. We woulda won that match!”
“Would you have done any different if our positions were swapped?”
There is a moment of silence, a very telling pause before Sam finally replies.
“That ain’t the point!”
The Aussie Battler shakes his head in a combination of bemusement and frustration. It can’t be understated how difficult it can be dealing with Samuel Braxton, but Dean does it out of love and dedication so it doesn’t bother him all that much. After years together he likes to think he’s learnt a few tips and tricks.
“Alright, alright. But are you gonna come out? It’s no use getting cranky over it. We could head down to the restaurant and grab some tucker.”
Another sizeable pause as Sam seemingly weighs his options.
“Well I am so hungry I could eat the horse and chase the jockey…”
“That settles it then.”
With a little more coaxing Sam eventually leaves his make-shift sanctuary and together the Lost Boys find themselves a quaint window side table within the restaurant of the hotel. Truth be told Sam has been more irritable then usual ever since the Dinky-Di Duo left Australia. Partly because as a ‘True-Blue’ Aussie he lacks any appreciation for anything that isn’t his home country or otherwise associated with it (he’s ‘Patriotic’ like that), but mostly it’s because he dislikes the taste of the American drinks.
“Struth! What is with this bloody Fosters Bullshit. When are these yank galahs gonna wise up and get some actual proper piss?!”
“Can we just focus for a moment? Yeah we got rorted last Evo, but it ain’t the end of the world. We still hold the title belts, which means there will be another chance to properly thrash the likes of the Hostile Elite, and don’t worry mate, I’m keen to go at them again, or we could even get some payback against V.E.N.O.M. Our moment will come before you know it. The next pay-per-view ain’t too far off. But until then…”
Now for the hard part.
“I got a match next week.”
“You ripper! Who we facin’?”
“No Sam…I, as in me, Dean Coulter, have a match next week, just me, against a bloke named Johnny Graves.”
The sudden outburst draws many concerned glances from fellow patrons and hotel staff alike.
“Now Sam, it’s just the one week. I’m sure you can find a lot to do in Albuquerque, such as the ah…Balloon Museum.”
Even before finishing Dean knows full well there is little that would interest his friend.
“Fair dinkum! How’s that. First we just jumped and lose a match, next your goin’ into a fight without me. Who is this Graves drongo anyway?”
This shocking revelation has Sam so worked up he is able to overlook his utter distaste for the local beverages and not only swiftly procures a bottle, but downs nearly half of its contents in one go. What better way to further aggravate a situation then to have the incensed Aussie Larrikin fall into inebriation.
“You boast how much you like a good fight, well I too enjoy a challenge. So let me have my fun yeah?”
Sam glowers and pouts, looking to the bottom of his glass bottle.
“And a challenge is what I reckon I’ll get from Johnny Graves. A hard hitting athlete of no small skill from what I gather, he’s proved deadset impressive and could be in contention for a singles belt before too long. What you may not realise mate, is that he and I share a most profound similarity; we are both running from past mistakes, to erase our sins, and in doing so we have lost much. Almost all we have left is the competition and the constant battles, the challenge of bettering ourselves in the hopes we can make up for the past. So I guess in essence this match against Johnny is a match against myself. I guess that’s mostly why I’m looking forward to it…What do you reckon Sam?”
Sam however has lost interest. Though conversely his mood as improved as his focus is now securely upon a shapely brunette who makes a beeline through the restaurant floor, and to the bar. Where she sits seemingly alone.
Dean nudges the Larrikin, bringing the focus back.
The Battler raises an eyebrow.
“Ah yeah, nah, mate. Aces…”
“Fair cop mate. I was talking about my match against Johnny Graves.”
“You don’t need to worry Dean. You’re probably one of the most dedicated and determined blokes I know. And bloody tougher than most, I knew a fair few tough guys growing up in juvie. Yeah I’m crackin’ the shits about the way things are but I know this shit’s important to you as well. I may not understand why, but at least I know when to get serious. So stop you’re fussin’. You have a knack of tryin’ to find the best in people, includin’ you’re opponents. If you didn’t I wouldn’t be here. But just this once accept you’re bloody better than the other guy. Trust me mate, at Evolution you’re gonna do you’re thing and teach Johnny-Boy how we do it Down Under.”
Dean Coulter is a little taken aback by Sam’s surprisingly heartfelt and insightful response. It’s moments like these that show just how much of a deadset legend Sam Braxton really is. Beneath the stoic and brash outer layer, there is a playful young man who above anything else is loyal and conscientious.
Not that he wants anyone to know that…
“Sorry mate, but duty calls.”
His quote for sage encouragement clearly expended, Sam is up from his seat in the blink of an eye, quickly fixing his hair as he goes over to try his luck cracking onto the brunette. Dean sits back to watch the show unfold, keeping Sam’s words close to heart, and feeling inspired by his friend’s unwavering confidence and faith in him.
Hopefully one day Dean can believe it for himself…
With a raise of his lemon, lime and bitters, Dean toasts to his friend, and starts playing out strategies on how best to tackle the fighter that is Johnny Graves, both excited and hesitant for the match to come.
Aces: All good
Battler: Hard working Australian, usually Middle-Class
Bloke: Gendered identifier for males
Bloody: Used for emphasis, sincerity and/or severity
Crack Onto: Flirt with/Hit on
Cracking the Shits: Getting angry
Cranky: Angry, worked up
Drongo/Galah: Idiots/Morons etc
Eat the Horse and Chase the Jockey: Extreme hunger
Fair Cop: Fair Enough/Alright/Righto
Fair Dinkum: Exclamation of questioning or veracity
Fosters: Australia’s primary beer export…Considered to be low quality
Larrikin: Prankster, fun-loving
Legend: A compliment of high praise
Mate: Honourific for ones close friend or general identifier
Rack Off: Get lost
Ripper: Hell yeah!
True Blue: Patriotic Australian
Wankers: Generic Insult
Yeah, nah: Yes