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Freakshow and "The Tearjerker" Mark Laundre stand outside of the general managers office. Kelly King and the blonde hadn't exactly parted on healthy terms. Even though it was he, Freak, who had done Kelly the honor of training his daughter in the very fundamentals of Professional Wrestling, an honor she shared with the hulking Nigerian Man standing next to the balding jew. Running a steel toothed comb through his perm, he explains this to Laundre, who, likely in some sort of trance, glares straight through Freak with an immense and crippling stupidity.

"...Just remember you gotta play hardball with this guy, ok? The Kings are very shrewd people. Just remember to keep away from the kids.. You got it?" The Original Heartbreaker continues to stare, his jaw hanging half open, a little drop of spit sliding down the side of his mouth. Knowing that his newest client was incapable of abstract thought and reasoning Freak simply reached forward and grabbed the knob of the GM's office leading the way in. "King! My old friend!"

"My old buddy, old pal!" Freakshow sits on the corner of the desk instead of the chair. He reaches into a coffee mug full of sharpened pencils and sticks one of the points in between his teeth, trying to dislodge a kernel of popcorn, "It's been awhile hasn't it? How are the kids? Are the kids ok?" Freak turns the pencil around, now biting the metal end near the eraser with his teeth. Oral fixation. Infantile. Loved the tit. As his bites into the writing utensil he realizes that he had just asked an incredibly stupid question. Not stupid in the sense that it was an empty gesture, a small formality towards a man that clearly had no patience for such things at the juncture, but stupid in the sense that he had forced one of aforementioned kids into a mentorship that was Demott-esque to say the least. Quickly he changes the subject.

"You know uh, it took guts, what you did to Shanahan," He looks back over his shoulder at his client, whose eyes had lit up in recognition of the General Manager. "Personally, I think it's been a long time coming. I don't know if I've ever told you this, King, but I always knew you could do it on your own. But Heck , I guess you already knew that too." Freak blinked a few times, perhaps on some level actually believing what he was saying in the way that a great method actor cannot help blur the lines between the truth of himself and the artifice of his performance. If there was. indeed, any sincerity in his compliments to King, it was sure to have been accidental.

"That's what I like about guys like us, you know, guys like you, me, Ronald Reagan, Kirk Douglas, Christopher.. Uh.. Christopher-" Freak looks back at his friend. "Columbus." The blond snaps his fingers. "That's right, COLUMBUS, guys like US who built the very foundations that we are standing in-... on.. Right now!"

The manager throws his hands up, "But hey, I'm not here to spend all your time telling you how good of a job you're doing down here. I just wanted to introduce you to my newest acquisition, Mark Laundre, and maybe even talk a little bit about drafting that contract, I don't know if you got the fax.." He looks over at the lumbering nigerian and pats his shoulder. "Go ahead big guy, introduce yourself.."

Without saying a word Mark Laundre would step forward to extend his hand. Should Kelly King reach forward to accpet what seemed like a handshake, The Original Innovator would call an audible, instead striking his famous Neon-Tornado pose right infront of the General Managers face as Freak looks on in horror.

"I AM THE ORIGINATING TEARJERKER, THE PRODIGAL SON, TOO HOT TO BE MILD, TOO COLD FOR THE WILD... MARK." He brings his forearm up over his own face, "LAAAAAAUNDREEEE!"

"That feeling you have? You know what that is? That's the feeling you get when you are in the presence of someone with the IT factor." The blonde pats the Nigerian on the belly, Laundre oddly enough does not break his pose, he remains frozen in place with his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes watering as he stands in the presence of a man for whom he shared an unexplainable feeling of both intimate familiarity and irrational hatred towards. "And believe me, commissioner, this man has IT , 6'1, 250 lbs of ebony gold standing before you. Not only does he have IT but he has what IT takes to bring your promotion to the next level.."

The pencil Freak was chewing on snaps in his mouth. "You're probably wondering how I ran into this guy huh? Well, you see, I've got this pal in West Africa who runs a diamond mine, don't worry it's all legit-" The blonde feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks at The Nigerian who met him with a look that said statue of limitations , Freak winces and turns back to King. "...Long story short, I own this mans sports contract. Now normally, I see someone like this, and I want him all to myself, but then I see you, this promotion, and the way you're running it.. And well.. Gosh darn-it, I'd be a fool not to make a friendly investment, even if it means less in the short term, you've gotta spend money to make money.. And after all, this is a business of relationships.."

The jew reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a contract, flashing his shiny gold teeth as the cryptic paper floats to the desk. "I'm willing to put my talent, Mark Laundre, on loan to you. I'm willing to do it at a lower price than I'd do for most people because, well, because I'm just a sentimental guy.." He grabs a pen off Kings desk and hands it to him, "How about it?"

Freakshow yelps as his arms is pinned down to the table. He looks up at King and tries tugging at his limb, he looks back at his client for help but he wasn't very much use. He was still in his Hurripose and in fact was quite startled by the sudden action, to the point where tears had begun forming in the corner of his eyes. His lip quivers as he struggles to maintain his power-position, his fists shake, his knees tremble as the blonde holds onto the pen trying keep his ********>.. Okokok! I-I was gunna tell you, uh, line 29 paragraph 3.. Maybe uh- run that one through your attorney- Besides that it's CLEAN I promise! Honest to god, quid pro quo and all the jazz. I would NEVER do ANYTHING that wasn't in YOUR best interest King! Honest injun..-" By this point Mark Laundre was hyperventilating, "Ah s**t.. He needs his insulin injection.. Look run it by your lawyer if you need, I'm telling you, I gave you a RAW deal,"

He brings his utensil to line 29 paragraph three dragging the pencil under the sentence, "It's just this part right here, it's a little tricky, you know.. I mean, s**t, I gotta get something outta this right?" He draws a straight line under the clause, a provision requesting, as an update to his managerial no touch stipulation, protection from the returning Mad Dog McLennon.

Freakshow jerks back, his lips turn into a frown as he brushes off his jacket, "Honestly King, I mean, honestly?!" Whenever Freak prefaced a thought with 'honestly' it usually meant he was about to lie. However, the hole in his suit, his white satin suit, briefly removed the filtration system from his gabber. He points a shakey finger at King, his appendage weighed down by a gold ring, eyes narrowing at the man "I don't think you quite understand exactly what you did by letting that degenerate, alcoholic, dirty southerner into this fine establishment that YOU and YOU alone have built,"

The blonde slaps his palms down on the table, a bit too hard, he cringes a wrings them about before continuing. "He might make you a penny, yeah, there's no doubt about that. But the man is a LIABILITY and I'll be damned if I have do make my hay in a hazardous work environment-" Freak grabs the stapler from Kings desk, "You see this? You think FRANK GOTCH ever used one of these? NO! Now, I could play low ball, I could lobby for the administration to PISS-TEST the mongrel, but honestly, that's not my style. I'd rather take the HIGH ROAD and give you something MUTUALLY ADVANTAGEOUS, because that's what FRIENDS do. But I understand it if you wanna drain me for this King, because I'm more than willing to pay whatever price necessary to keep that scumbag out of my hair.."

Freakshow adjusts his cuff links, sighing, the red draining from his face as he checks back on his client, before looking back at King, shrugging his shoulders. "And uh.. The way I look at it, you kind of owe me, I did train your daughter, after all."

A lump slides down Freakshows throat, a bead of sweat drips down the side of his head. He stares at his reflection in the plated sledge hammer, imagining his hand flattened under it's weight, imagining the number on the medical bill. Ugly stuff, ugly, ugly stuff. Enough to make him seriously reconsider his game plan coming in. He was going to have to show his hand, here.

"Tangible... Well, uh... I'd offer to help you out with your Shanahan problem but that seems well in.. hand.. I'd offer you a few free Summers bookings but he's down in Puerto Rico for the time being... If you really was something concrete... I've been thinking about opening the club back up. Now, normally I don't do partnerships with these things but, uh, you have a big hammer.. So.." He forces a gold toothed smile. "50/50?"

The lights flicker out for a moment in the general manager's office, and then back on. 'Ahem" a voice spoke from the back of the office. There, the newly signed self proclaimed Elegant Peacock, Kujaku sat on his signature couch. How he got it in the office in that short amount of time was a mystery to the audience, but he secretly had it snuck in during the scuffle between King stabbing Freakshow's jacket with a pen. Very Undertaker-esque in a sense.

Getting off his signature couch, 'No need for that Nicholas, and yes. I'm aware of your name Freakshow. I tend to research those I make business decisions with. Obviously you two have history, and obviously you have a problem with this Mad Dog is it?' he spoke as he gracefully walked towards the trio in the office. Eyeing the 'Tearjearker' up and down, 'You've got moxxie, I like the cut of your jib' he spoke approving. Adjusting his eye mask as if it were a pair of glasses, to make him seem more intellectual. He looked over the paperwork. 'Hmm, this is your problem Freakshow, you're trying to negotiate with a CANADIAN. You know the same country that forced Justin Beiber down our throats? Though how you managed to keep those gold teeth during the Holocust is contested to your cunning. Though with all your Jew talk, you probably neglect to see that this guy. He's probably got money. He doesn't need more. Tell you what big guy, I'll help you with 'your' problem, and when am in need of a favor... You'll take care of it, no questions asked.'

He spoke to Freakshow, then faced the General Manager Kelly King. 'And while we're in the talks of negotiating things. I seem to have won some backstage winter warfare thing? That's right me. Though I was expecting some sort of notification or something that pertains to I don't know. It's on the tip of my tongue...' Kujaku spoke tapping his forehead as if in thought. 'Right, title shot. So which championship is it? Hmm? Hmm? Not that it actually 'matters' which one it is, it'll be mine soon enough. But while you ponder on.... 'Questionable' contracts, my championship one is one that 'you' sir, are legally contractually obligated to enforce. " Kujaku then picked up one of his signature features, which was actually a quill pen.

'And that, is something you can sign off on.' he spoke as he placed the quill pen on the 'questionable' contract.